Only Ones Who Know
by Coffee Filters
Summary: They're rival extractors targeting the same mark. Not really the ideal conditions you would want when running into an ex, especially if you abandoned said ex two years ago. Ariadne and Arthur.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: **So here's another multichap fic. I want to dedicate it to Lauraa-x and Music Is My Heroine (I had to write your name like that because FF is crazy!) for always being encouraging and supportive of my stories._

_The goal of this was to try to see a different Ariadne. We'll see what happens..._

**Only Ones Who Know**

Stunned was the immediate word to describe Arthur's feelings when he saw her across the dark, crowded room. Music thumped heavy in his head as he watched her, _stunned_.

She looked the same. Her brown hair still wavy, a little longer though, meeting past her shoulders. Her eyes wide and innocent. Her small frame still shorter than any other person he'd ever met.

Disbelief was the second word to come to mind, and Arthur had to blink several times to debate this reality. He traced his steps to this exact moment—breakfast, meeting with Trevor, lunch, recon, meeting with Trevor again, dinner—he remembered getting ready for this despicable place and coming in with one goal in mind. He touched his pocket, feeling for the familiar loaded die kept there.

This was real, and that knowledge only made his heart race faster, his eyes fervently search her surroundings, his mind whirled as he watched her. And while she wasn't doing anything particularly enchanting or worldly—she just stood there—she was everything he could look at.

She didn't see him or had the opportunity to acknowledge him. She faced the bar, her creamy, exposed back towards him, and he would've missed her by chance if she hadn't been standing on her own, her skin practically illuminated beneath the glowing lights as she looked over the dance floor. This was the glimpse he waited two years for, and he felt himself frozen, unprepared, though this meeting was constant on his mind.

She was right there, and he didn't know what to do. He tried to catch her eye, before she turned to the approaching bar tender for her order.

Along with the two years of separation between them, sat a dance floor full of bodies gyrating to some sort of techno-house beat popular in these underground club joints, one which Arthur hardly digested, so unfazed was he by the figure of the girl who walked out on him years ago.

He saw her before she saw him, meaning it was his decision to make this moment or let it pass.

What were the odds? He wondered at that as he stood against the wall, assessing the entire club, the hectic, colorful lights, the dancing people, the women walking by him, eyeing him. It crowded on his speeding mind. Distraction upon distraction tried to win his focus, but Arthur breathed in deeply. He turned the other way, looked at his watch, and then surveyed the room again for the mark.

Now wasn't the time for distractions, he had to remind himself. Now was the time for a job. A very important job. Micah Roebuch, heir to Roebuch Industries, was somewhere here. He saw him earlier, before he spotted _her_.

Arthur felt his heart hitch at the thought, and he quickly swallowed it down, tuning his senses towards the matter at hand. Micah Roebuch was here. He was the reason Arthur had to drag himself to this shit hole anyway. The fact that Ariadne stood approximately ten yards away shouldn't have an effect on him.

"Arthur?" the voice in his ear buzzed. Arthur started at the sound. "Arthur? Do you see him? Has Carrie gotten to him yet?"

Crude as it was to communicate with earpieces—Arthur hated the method and preferred the trust that naturally came with working in a group—he had to keep an eye on that girl they hired, Carrie. Of course, she didn't have any idea what they wanted the man for, all she knew was that she had to drag him out of the god-forsaken place and Trevor would handle it outside.

"And what about you sweetheart?" she had asked, when Arthur went over the plan with her and handed her the earpiece. "Who are you going home to tonight?"

Arthur smiled gently, remaining ever professional. "Home is a long ways away right now Carrie."

"All the more reason then," she said suggestively, her eyes roving over him with incredible slowness. She too was a professional.

Arthur shook his head. "As amazing that sounds, I'll have to decline."

"Girl back home?" Carried asked, shrugging off his refusal easily. She ran her hands through her hair and adjusted her posture, all the better for her assets. She gave him a questioning look, either asking for approval or if he'd changed his mind.

"You look great Carrie," he said instead, avoiding her first question.

"Let's hope so," she said with a wink, leading her way into the milieu inside.

Arthur easily found Carrie in the crowd, acting nonchalant on the opposite end of the room. She spoke to a few people, and when Trevor's orders reached her ears, she found Arthur and gestured with her head to the bar.

Gotcha.

Arthur told her to make her way over, muttering to his side—he never knew where to talk when he had these stupid things on—and started combing his way through the throng of people.

**xxxxx**

Ariadne leaned on the bar, elbows avoiding the sticky top and resting on the curved edge, as she looked around her. The club was innocuous enough. She almost didn't hate it as much as she professed earlier, despite her protests and some teasing. She curled her hair behind her ear, touching the hanging jewelry there. She hardly wore ornaments like this, but it was fit for the part, along with the heels, the fitted dress with the exposed back, though the draft on her back was a little discomforting. She missed her scarves.

What else did you wear to the club anyway?

She couldn't argue with that, and despite feeling a small bit ridiculous, she at least could feel that she didn't stick out. The bartender brought her drink over, and Ariadne slipped her notes over to him, before facing out, holding the black straw to her lips to take a polite sip.

"What are you drinking?"

Ugh. She'd been avoiding this question all night. She rolled her eyes as she ignored the nagger, pretending being her best defense as she looked across the bar, further down. But apparently he wasn't going to have any of that.

"Are you even old enough to be in here?" The voice continued, and Ariadne edged away slightly, though a part of her wanted to jab him with her elbow. "You're short enough to be—" She riled up at that comment. Her short stature was just—

Wait.

The persistence of that voice made her freeze, her brain concentrating on the timbre, the tone, the articulation of the words. Ariadne turned around, fire in her eyes. "Arthur?" She swallowed her incredulousness and couldn't help but stare, open-mouthed at the apparition in front of her. Arthur in front of her. Arthur smiling as he picked on her. Arthur in a club.

Surreptitiously, she pulled her hair back over her ear. "You're in a club?" she asked and immediately regretted.

Arthur looked around both of them and laughed. "It appears so, yes. You are too?"

Ariadne pulled her arms across her chest, self-conscious all of a sudden, exposed all of a sudden. The draft on her back was cool. "It's been a while, hasn't it?" she asked instead, and to her satisfaction, Arthur looked as uncomfortable as she felt.

His eyes darted across the bar, in the same direction Ariadne's had just been a few seconds ago. She noted the couple at the end, and that Arthur's eyes followed them like a hawk. She straightened her posture and tilted her head in his direction when he brought his attention back to her.

"What are you doing in London?" he asked without preamble, and Ariadne could see Arthur's eyes dart back and forth between her and the couple down the way. That girl was undoubtedly very beautiful. Ariadne bit down that remark mentally.

"I can guess what you're up to," Ariadne said, bitterness creeping into her voice, catching his attention.

He looked at her. "What? No. I'm just—I'm enjoying the night life." She looked unconvinced, her lips pursing with amused suspicion. He cleared his throat, clearly realizing his foible "What have you been up to Ariadne?"

She shook her head. "I'm sorry," she said with a hollow smile on her glossed lips. "I think I forgot the part where I was still part of your concern."

He grew reasonable. "Ariadne—"

"No, Arthur, look." She shook her head in a gesture that looked as if she couldn't conceive it. "I'm sure you're here for a very important reason, and I think that it would be better if I just—"

"Where are you staying?" Arthur was past his usual cool demeanor. He seemed almost eager, frantic to break down this carefully constructed wall. "Maybe we can talk later."

Ariadne was already taking a few steps away from him. "That wouldn't be a very good idea, Arthur. I'm sorry we had to run into each other."

"Ariadne, I'm sorry. Wait—" He jolted slightly, and Ariadne could tell by how he looked to the side that he had an earpiece in. He hated those things. She took that opportunity to get away from him, downing her drink as she turned away as quickly as possible.

**xxxxx**

"That's her isn't it?" Carrie asked in his ear, and Arthur looked across the bar at this call girl, sitting on a stool, holding her glass in his direction. Her long, smooth legs were crossed over one another. Arthur shrugged, looking pointedly at the empty spot next to her.

"Little boy's room. The guy's on his way to gone. This won't be as difficult as you thought."

"Yeah? Well, at least something's working out tonight."

"Don't be so upset," Carrie said with resounding wisdom. "She still likes you." She took a sultry sip from her glass.

Arthur lifted his eyebrows in her direction. "What makes you say that?" he asked, holding back his eagerness.

Carrie smirked, sipping her cocktail. "She couldn't get away fast enough could she?"

**xxxxx**

**_A/N:_**_ Thanks for reading! And if you have the time, please review!__  
_


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Times like these, Arthur questioned whether this was reality or not, because the circumstances were turning out to be just the things his fears were made of.

Carrie saw them before he did. All Arthur saw was her change in expression as she looked over the dance floor. She looked shocked, then almost resigned, yet amused. Arthur followed her gaze.

Of course.

Of course life would be this way, because of course the two people he would need to keep away from one another would be standing together. Ariadne looked on smiling as Micah Roebuch led her through the group, her hand tucked under his arm.

"What just happened?" He looked over the bar at Carrie.

She smacked her lips as she downed the shot. "Look at it this way, sweetheart." She had a cheshire cat smile on her face. "She must really love you if she's doing this to get back at you."

Arthur scoffed. "I highly doubt that."

Arthur wasn't one to be jealous. He'd been under torturous circumstances before, in and out of dreams, but he couldn't curb that suspicion in him as he watched Ariadne tucked close to Micah. She pulled him closer and began whispering something that made Micah laugh harder, requiring him to whisper something equally hilarious rather close to her, lifting her hair away from her ear to do so.

"Forget it, love," Carrie said near his shoulder. Arthur pulled out his earplug and played with it between two fingers. She sipped a martini and eyed the couple with aloof sentimentality. "We've lost him."

Arthur turned to her and downed some of the drink he gave in to order. "We haven't."

"What makes you say that?"

"It's the first step of the plan." Arthur shook his head again, before looking at the couple smiling at the bar. He placed his glass back onto the bar top and looked at her. "Swoop in when you see an opening." He headed in Ariadne's direction.

**xxxxx**

"Ariadne."

Ariadne turned around at the sound of Arthur's voice, looking at him above Micah's arm. She glared. "Arthur."

Micah seemed to just realize that a third party encroached upon them and turned in a daze at him. "Charlie?"

Arthur lifted his eyebrows at the false name, and he noticed the small shrug of her shoulders that pushed Micah's arm off of her. "What are you doing here Arthur?" Her tone was deadly, something Arthur heard before but only under extreme arguments.

"Arthur?" Micah asked.

Arthur looked at the mark, eyebrows raised. "Hi." He held his hand out. "Arthur and you are?"

Micah took a step away from Ariadne, almost as if he'd been burned. He eyed Arthur warily but took his hand. "Micah."

Arthur smiled, oozing charm and goodwill he didn't feel entirely. He wove his arm around Ariadne's shoulder in the most natural, familiar way. It belonged there. He'd done it before, countless of times as they walked along the Seine, when he wanted to pull her into a kiss. His arm settled into the familiarity of her shoulders, the curve of her neck. His body missed the action, and the small bit of contact of her skin against his sent this electrical wave to his brain. He remembered all of this.

"So Micah," he started good-naturedly, and he felt Ariadne's eyes on him like lasers. "What are you doing here with m—um, _Charlie_?" He avoided calling her anything to him, purposefully dodging the certainty but implying everything in how he held her, despite her growing rigidity. He could feel her attempts to push him off.

Micah didn't say anything but continued to look at Ariadne and Arthur, fazing over Ariadne's stormy expression. "Um—"

"There you are!" And Arthur felt a swooping relief at Carrie's timing. She weaseled herself next to Micah, placing a gentle hand on his arm. "I wondered where you got off to," she said politely, assessing Ariadne and Arthur. He felt Ariadne's eyes on him immediately. He could tell that she quickly made the connections. He smiled and tightened his hold on her.

Micah looked thankfully saved at Carrie's entrance.

"Micah," Ariadne said, sweetly, a last-ditch attempt Arthur realized but Micah was already gone to Carrie's save. He barely made apologies other than a small smile in Ariadne's direction, before Arthur swooped in to take his place.

Ariadne's expression was calm but thunderous. "What the hell was that, Arthur?"

Arthur gestured to the bartender for a drink and too the stool next to her. "So," he asked, settling in, "when were you going to tell me that you were working again?"

Ariadne pulled her hair back behind her ear.

"And who is it you're talking to?" Arthur added.

Ariadne smiled, leaning in. "What makes you think that I'm working?"

The bar tender came up to them and placed a tumbler in front of him. Arthur thanked him and paid. "You've been touching your earpiece all night. You're after the heir to Roebuch Industries, coincidentally the same guy I'm after."

He felt Ariadne's look blank at the implication. "Arthur," she shook her head sadly, her wrists on the bar top in front of her as she turned away from him. "You're very much a conspiracy theorist." She looked up at him. "Because I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You're using a fake name."

"We're in a bar, Arthur. I don't give my real information to drunks," she said, turning to take a sip of her drink, her bare arm inclining slightly towards him as she arched her neck. If that information were true, then that meant that Ariadne was only after one thing tonight. And Arthur didn't like the idea of that.

Arthur looked at her carefully, watching her eyes, her stance, her confidence. Her dress. Her bareback. Her glowing skin.

She blinked.

He felt like a schmuck.

"Roebuch Industries," Arthur repeated, tasting the effects on Ariadne's features. He turned away from her. As well, facing the bar instead. He looked at her with the corner of his eyes. "I'm sorry. I don't know—" he took a sip of his drink for time and fortification. "You do realize that you just admitted to trying to make me jealous then?" he asked, completely at a loss and resorting to honesty.

Ariadne laughed. "What are you talking about?"

"Why else would you be lording Micah Roebuch in front of me, if not because of jealousy?" he asked.

She shook her head, smiling in disbelief. "You seriously think way too much of yourself."

"Jealousy is an emotion we all have to confront now and again," he went on smoothly.

She looked incredulous. "Do you think that I'm that petty?"

He shot her a glance that answered her. "Please don't pretend that you didn't take some satisfaction in that spectacle," he said, leaning in.

"As long as you admit that you think so highly of yourself and were in fact the reason we broke up," she reposted right back.

Arthur stepped back from the emotional punch to his gut. "Wow, mine sounded way more simpler than yours did." He took another sip. "But I'm not."

"Oh, because not telling your fiancée where or when you're leaving for her safety wasn't a personal slight at her for being unable to handle it?" she said coolly.

Arthur twisted his mouth. "When you put it like that in third-person…" He sobered. Their light banter at an end. "I left you a letter. I did it for your own good." Funny. He had said that to himself for years, and it sounded even less promising out loud.

Ariadne turned to face him, her legs crossed in his direction. "A letter? That's all I get. Arthur, you never really had faith in me, did you?"

Arthur looked at her bare hand resting on the counter between them. "I had faith in _us_. I think that's what made all the difference."

At that instant, the lights of the club hit her in such a way that looked like sunlight. He remembered how it streamed through their bedroom window the morning she got the letter. The entire apartment seemed to glow with this orange and yellow source, and all Arthur could see was Ariadne holding that sheet of yellow legal paper. All Arthur noticed was how she sat on the edge of their mattress with her hand over the bottom half of her face.

Ariadne gave a rueful smile.

"What?" he asked, returning to this moment.

She leaned over, her hand holding his shoulder as she broke that gap between them. Her lips were near his ear as she spoke to him. "I think it's funny that we're having this conversation while your mark gets away."

Arthur turned his head to see Carrie look at him, a sour expression. Micah nowhere to be seen. When he turned back to face Ariadne, she was gone.

**xxxxx**

_**A/N: **__Many thanks to PrettyPrettyPlease, Nina4444, Lauraa-x, and MusicIsMyHeroine for their reviews! Virtual baked goods for you all with my thanks! You are wonderful people, and I love you for taking the time to let me know you're reading!_


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Arthur hated failing. He also hated having his trust thrown back in his face, which is exactly what the small woman in the navy dress was doing.

Ariadne, dressed simply in blue, sat next to Micah at the café, laughing overtly at some joke the heir had just said. Granted, Arthur was hiding at a few tables across the way, but neither seemed to realize his presence. The fact that Ariadne sat next to his mark was interesting. The fact that she shortly disappeared after last night's attempt at extraction was also interesting. Too, interesting to be happenstance.

Of course, coincidence could be possible, but Arthur wasn't one to believe in coincidence. Rarely, do coincidences happen. People made coincidences happen. He knew a play when he saw one. He was just stunned by the player.

He asked her to marry him. Years ago, he doesn't remember when the idea occurred to him as a good one or when he actually set out to find a ring. Everything seemed to line up perfectly rather. He just knew. He just found one. He just did it, but the timing.

When he crept out of their apartment two years ago, it was to complete one last job, a final favor to an old friend and fellow extractor. Dom knew Trevor too, but Arthur didn't want him involved in this at all. Trevor was already a seasoned architect and extractor. They would be fine without Cobb.

Only, Arthur had promised Ariadne that he wouldn't go back into the field, mainly because, the dammed girl seemed eager for the field again too. Arthur just wasn't a fool. He knew the intoxicating nature of dream sharing. He saw what it did to his best friend and best friend's lover. He wanted both of them as far from it as possible. He didn't want to end up like they did.

He just didn't know that that last job, this last one he thought at least, would result in the bounty on his head. Risks were always there, sure, and this one seemed like such a sure thing, only—

Trevor knew the risk when he asked Arthur on, he even hinted at it, admitting to know about Arthur's possible retirement. But Arthur owed Trevor one, and he would do this one last con. He'd have the rest of his lifetime to pay Ariadne back. He didn't see it as the last time he would see her. He had to keep it secret, of course. He didn't want Ariadne entwined with this. The company they would do this for was a big deal, and he needed his ties to be left alone, most of all those he cared for to be left alone.

He just didn't count on her not being there when he finally found the opportune moment to come back.

A year ago, Arthur went back to that apartment in Paris with the six flights of stairs and amazing view of the zinc roofs and ceramic chimneys to find that it was leased to a new tenant, that Ariadne had left her job at Grayson and Lachaille, and that she moved out rather quickly. She left no forwarding address, but did say that she went back to free-lancing in the States. It was hard to keep up with her then, and even so, he found that her real name only popped up every so often. He took it personal that he couldn't find her.

He also felt the extreme irony in the fact that he taught her every hiding trick he knew on how to disappear.

He stumbled on her in New York once. It was by chance. No skill required. He wasn't even looking for her at the time, simply on his way to see Trevor for some job or other. She had headphones on as she thumbed through a book, waiting at the Canal station. He saw her by impulse, looking up to read the train's light in the window before looking down. Arthur caught her last minute when he too looked up, his hand grasping the metal bar above his head, hardly prepared to focus. His skills hardly kicked in on time because he first didn't believe it.

He walked to the end of his subway car, slightly shoving and offending other passengers to stay in that line of vision, if only to keep staring. But he reached the end and the train started to speed up.

His head did this trick in dreams. It started out small: an aspect of their lives together, the back of a projection's head that looked like her, some object of hers in a well-executed landscape. And most recently—he shook his head. He touched the loaded die in the pocket of his trench to test this reality.

It was real. His heart lurched in anticipation and his natural instincts kicked in, but the doors were closing.

He missed her by seconds. An immediate change back or even a return to the stop around the same time the next day didn't yield results. Neither did searching for prospective architectural jobs she may have taken. New York was a big city. Jobs were constantly fluctuating and people were constantly moving. People were easily lost if they wanted to be, and he figured Ariadne wanted to be.

She knew he could find her, wherever he would be. She knew that he would. And the very fact that she chose to keep hidden—sure it could be for her sake, but he knew better—just told him that she never forgave him.

When he couldn't find her, he figured it was for the best.

Arthur stalked out of the café, careful to look inconspicuous as he headed out.

"It wasn't me at all," Cobb said with a laugh as Arthur recounted the entire story to him. He paced along a path in a nearby park as he held his mobile to his cheek. His trench coat hanging open as he pivoted on his heel. "The great Arthur brought down by my protégé," Cobb said as he laughed again.

Arthur stopped suddenly. "It's not funny Cobb."

"It's sort of funny," his friend admitted. "You teach her everything you and I know, and what does she do?"

Arthur looked one way, then another. "Breaks my heart and ruins a perfectly well-planned extraction. Trevor won't let me hear the end of this."

"Trevor knows that getting the mark where you need him is part of the battle. Planning a fake rendezvous to induce his sleep is just tricky."

Arthur stopped suddenly. "Who do you think she's working for?"

"It could very well be just coincidence," Dom pointed out.

"That doesn't exist in this business."

"Are you certain? Ariadne never came across as one to search for this business without some help, and after you left, what were her connections?"

Arthur sighed, pinching his temple between two fingers as he realized everything. "Eames."

"What?"

"Her connection was Eames," he elaborated. He stood up straight. "Who else did she know in the criminal world of dream extraction but Eames?"

**xxxxx**

**_A/N: _**_ Thanks to Lauraa-x and MusicIsMyHeroine and Guest for their reviews on the last chapter. High-fives all around! You guys are phenomenal. Thanks!_

_I'll be sure to update earlier. Sorry about the wait for this one! _


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Arthur found her easily under her full name at a hotel only a few blocks from the club they first saw one another. He over thought how easily this was all done, how easily he could've just found her, how easily he might have overlooked her all this time. They were in the same city at the same time. The odds were completely against any of these chances, Arthur understood like any gambler. He also knew that when the stakes were this high, he just had to take them, which was why he stood in front of the closed white door, barely hesitating when he knocked.

There was no answer, and Arthur wasn't going to give up that easily. Granted, he wasn't invited here, nor did he check if Ariadne was in her room, but having seen her last night, he knew that she would expect him, especially if she hadn't checked out already. The fact that she was here and under her own name had to be a sign.

He knocked again.

"I don't see a reason why I should let you in right now," he heard her muffled voice say through the door. He spotted two dark shadows from her feet beneath the door and her voice was loud enough to tell him that she stood right on the other side.

Arthur stared straight ahead, dipping his chin to hide the smile from the peephole he was sure she was looking through. "Well, you do see me standing out here, and that in itself is a reason."

He saw the two shadows that were her feet step away. She didn't say anything.

"You got to admit that that was a good one," he said to the white door.

"Humble to a fault," she replied a little more testily.

"How about this? Please just let me in?"

There was no response.

He looked up and down the hallway. "Ariadne, please? I just want to talk. That's all."

There was an unbearable silence where he thought that she was going to just leave him there. Then those shadows were back. "You stalk me and expect free entrance into my room? I really don't think that that's fair."

He took this as a good sign. "Yeah, well, I also don't think that it was fair when you left me last night, but who's counting?"

"If we are, then I guess we could also add that you abandoned me two years ago."

He winced at that, thinking how he set himself up for such a stunning blow. He leaned forward, his forehead nearly touching the door. "Ariadne, I really don't want to have this conversation for the entire hallway to hear."

There was still no response, a lengthy silence to the point where Arthur thought that he should just leave, then a small click, a creek, and a large brown eye and her cheek poking through. Her fingers curled against the doorframe. "I want it on record that you're only coming in here because we really can't talk about this in a hallway."

"Fine." His words were a sigh of relief. He made a step inside, but she held the door still in front of her firmly.

"And had subterfuge not been necessary in your case," she added. "I wouldn't be letting you in at all."

He nodded. "Understood. Now?" He looked at her expectantly and she took a step back.

He made his way over to the bed and sat down as she shut her door, facing him. "Feel free to yell all you want now," he said lightly, though he could tell that the jibe didn't go over well. His eyes made a quick assessment of the room. Her bag lay open at the foot of her bed, the clothes gone through. Her dress from last night was on a chair, and her shoes kicked off on the way to the bathroom, where he could make out her cosmetics disorganized on the counter.

He couldn't tell how long she had been there really. The most he could garner was that she at least stayed here last night. Not a big tell.

She crossed her arms over her chest, annoyed at his charm. Without the dim lighting of the club and the fast exit he made at the café, he could look at her properly. She wore jeans and another haphazardly loose t-shirt under a scarf, one he didn't know. There were times when he knew her entire scarf collection, when he had favorites, or when he could tell her mood just by her choice, when those said scarves were stored in the very same closet as his own ties.

He bought her a patterned one with feathers on it once, and she wore it all the time, saying that it reminded her of him. She probably threw it away now.

Her hair was longer too, and not as wavy as she used to keep it. It fell in long layers down her back, around her face, and onto her shoulders. Her face was clear, and the more he studied her the more he saw her fidget under his appraisal. He looked away, slightly put off for being caught staring.

"I really have nothing to say to you," she said, still standing before him. "You're the one who found out where I was staying and just came here."

"I wanted to apologize."

"For coming here unannounced?" she asked with that familiar quirk of her eyebrow. "You could easily have done that from out there."

He shook his head at her difficulty. "For everything."

"Why not something with more specificity?" she asked cattily and Arthur couldn't help but smirk at that.

"Why do you have to be so stubborn?" he asked almost glibly. He saw her rile at his tone. "I'm actually making an effort here."

Ariadne shrugged. "Abandonment issues."

He spread his leg out before him, slightly. "I'm sorry for leaving you two years ago. I'm sorry I never said where I was going, and for staying away longer." He stopped. And an image of her reading that damned letter came to mind. "But if you knew what happened. I didn't mean to stay away so long. I had to make it up—"

"Arthur," she cut in. "You were the one who wanted us to stay clear of all of this, because of Dom and Mal. You were the one who made me stop, why was it different for you?"

And even as he said it, he knew it was the wrong thing to say. "Because I handled it before, Ariadne. I knew what I was doing."

Her face crumpled in a gargoyle and she addressed him snippily, slashing him with small words and small actions. "Yes because having to stay away from your ex-fiancée for two years because you're a wanted criminal is a clear sign that you knew what you were doing," she said with a scoff. As he arms crossed over her chest, he looked at her hands. He didn't need confirmation to know that it wasn't there. It wasn't there last night.

"What did you do with the ring by the way?" he asked, unable to hide the snark, saccharine tone in his voice that came up from her obvious disdain for him.

She considered her arms crossed in front of her chest when she replied, "It's at the bottom of the Seine." She took he right hand to be on top this time.

He considered this though a hopeful, then constricting feeling took over. "That's fair."

"It wouldn't matter if it were or not, Arthur," she snapped, and Arthur flinched a little at her callousness. She licked her bottom lip, a habit he remembered for when she felt self-conscious or annoyed. "Are we done now?"

Arthur shook off this unfortunate, cold question. "No. Ariadne." He stood up. "I've been waiting for this opportunity for years. I'm not just going to let you leave now, even if you want me to."

She sighed, rolling her eyes freely in front of him. "What else do you want to hear then, Arthur?"

"Are you in extraction?"

There was a stunned silence in the room at that. He knew the question would take her off guard, so he studied her closely when he said it, specifically at the way her eyes widened suddenly, a giveaway at guilt.

Then her lips pursed, letting him know that she carefully considered her next action, before they curved up into a smile, surprising him completely. "You've thought this out, clearly," she replied with this Cheshire cat attitude that Arthur had no way of attributing.

"Are you in extraction?" he asked again, a little unsure from her response. He knew her. He knew that Ariadne couldn't lie properly, that her own sense of guilt and morals tended to show on her face, but this sly response took him off guard. "I saw you at the café with Micah. It can't be a coincidence that I saw you with my mark, and that Eames is nowhere to be heard from. He claims Egypt but a lot of accounts aren't lining up."

"You asked me this last night, Arthur," she reminded him calmly. "But no," she said, a little miffed. She looked him dead in the eye. "I'm not."

He studied her, before his face broke. "I'm sorry. I just thought—" he hesitated. "You really hate at me don't you?" he asked. It was almost a joke to alleviate the moment, but it was also a passive aggressive jibe. A drowning man's attempt at levity.

"You left without telling me two years ago. I think I have a reason why I should hate you."

He took a step towards her, looking at her clear face and large eyes, remembering that there was a time when he did this and didn't feel her stiffen away from him. She didn't take a step away from him, but he sensed her awareness of his presence. Her eyes darted towards their feet and she licked her bottom lip again. He angled his face in thought. "No, this is different. There's something you're not telling me, I can see it." He studied her more closely, as he took a step away from her.

The pull towards her was like memory lane. His body realized what it was doing and realized how much it enjoyed doing so in the past. His hands in her hair. His fingers on her shoulder. Arthur never understood just how many times a day he would touch Ariadne—playing, comforting, wanting—only until he couldn't anymore.

And while a part of him knew that he lost that right, the minute he even considered leaving her, his body had no sense of logic or manners apparently, because he kept towards her in a maddening, selfish way.

He could see the play of fear on her face. She didn't trust him.

A sudden buzz cut through the room, and they both looked at the source. Arthur pulled out his mobile to read it. He looked up from reading the text message, his demeanor immediately changed. That sudden fission from the room gone. "I'm sorry. I have to—I'm working," he said, apologetically, understanding that the timing of Trevor's text wasn't opportune.

Ariadne shrugged as if she knew all along. She looked more relaxed than before. Her tight-lipped smile was bittersweet. "You always are."

"Ariadne," he coaxed. He looked at his phone, then at her expression. "I'm sorry. How long are you staying? We should meet up." He knew he was acting out, talking too fast, his usual cool shot from the panic seeping in. She'd be gone in the morning, he knew.

She might have been so easy to find tonight, but who was to say that she didn't regret leaving her tracks? Her eyes remained stone cold as he continued to slightly flail before her.

He went around her towards the door. "I really have to go," he repeated.

"Go."

He took a good long look at her, seeing her unwavering expression, her blocked stance, and he went back to her. Those few steps made so easily. It was the direction he wanted to be headed all along.

She looked taken aback by this impulse, but she didn't move when his eyes grazed over her, soaking the very image of her up, because he had no faith in what he was doing. "Will you wait? Just until morning." He peaked up at her, his chin bowed down, "please?"

He focused right into her eyes, looking at her, pulling a promise he knew that were just words when she agreed. "You need to go Arthur," she reminded him coolly.

He nodded then set out.

**xxxxx**

Arthur, dressed in a smart black tux, his hair slicked back, he loitered at the edges of the dance floor, watching the formally dressed couples circle to the light music playing by the quartet nearby. In his hand he held a full champagne flute and his other was tucked in his pocket as he searched the crowd for familiar faces.

Trevor should be here, he knew. He also knew that Micah was somewhere. It was his father's home after all. He looked at the floor length windows, the marbled columns, everything done in the exact specifications of his research.

He looked at the faces on the dance floor again and stopped. There. There he was, dancing with one of the girls, smiling. That was good. It meant he didn't sense anything, that he didn't know that anything was amiss. Only—

The couple turned suddenly and Arthur frowned. He downed the champagne quickly and placed it on a passing waiter's tray, before circling for a better view, past the other projections.

The brown hair—much longer than he knew but remembered to have been changed, the clear face, the pink lips kept in a tight smile, and the wide brown eyes: it couldn't be happening again. He thought he had in under control, but seeing her again must've started it over.

The song over, Arthur followed them with his eyes as Micah left her at the edge of the dance floor, off to get refreshments, and Arthur made his move, walking up to her. He liked to confront her head on in dreams.

It was funny. He started to understand why Cobb did it with Mal now. Almost savoring memories as he took her in.

She was made up in a navy dress that hugged her closely around the waist and bust. The skirt was full and elegantly draped to the floor. He made her elegant, much more elegant than she traditionally was, but he tended to make her blend in with the dream.

He kept his eyes focused on the creamy base of her bare neck, a rarity for her and a favorite of his. He always loved her neck. Maybe because she always hid it with scarves.

"By the looks of it," he said, watching her neck arch slightly as she turned this way, then that, slightly nervous jump, "you expected me to see you here." He looked at the small silver chain on her neck, and apparently feeling him stare, she laid a carefully careless hand on top of the charm.

He had never seen that necklace before. He never put it on her. But how this Ariadne held it, it was different. He took a step forward to get a better look

This Ariadne met him head on and smiled that familiar antagonizing smirk he came to see was reserved for him. "Arthur." Her voice was challenging.

He sidled up to her, already antagonizing. "What are you doing here?" Arthur reached into his pocket and touched the loaded die sitting in there, waiting. His beliefs confirmed, he reached for her elbow with his other, and she slyly pulled away, taking a step to face the dancefloor instead.

"This is elegant," she said, playing with the end of her long necklace.

Arthur turned too. "What are you doing here, Ariadne?" he asked, a little weary.

It was because he ran into her again. He had it all under control, but now, his subconscious was just spilling over with her. Through his periphery, he started to compare his version to the one he remembered from the hotel this evening. Small things were there. She looked genuinely the same, but there wasn't that idealism, that lightheartedness that he loved about her.

His shade always seemed controlled and manipulating. She always played aloof and would screw him over.

"I'm keeping you company," she said simply. Her smile was beguiling but flat to anything deeper. It wasn't the same one that she would have when she made puns or tried to teach him French. It wasn't the same one she'd have when he'd wake up and just see her staring at him. She had that smile on.

"You need to stop doing that," he'd say with a groan, closing his eyes again. She hated sleep, ironically. She loved the morning. She always wanted him to wake up so they could go somewhere.

He felt the bed shift as she edged closer to him, her arms tucked under her chest as she rested her chin on her folded hands. "Arthur, I want breakfast."

Arthur kept his eyes closed as he replied. "And I want to sleep. It's funny how that works out."

He heard her loud sigh and felt the bed shift again, this time, he felt her lean forward. Her lips pressed against his chin and her hands curled around his neck, and he his body responded automatically to her touch.

"Please," she said, dropping another kiss against his neck. "Crepes. That's all I ask."

"Are you seriously using your wiles for breakfast?" he asked, blinking awake to take a more active participant, angling his lips to meet hers.

When she pulled away, he vaguely heard her say something about this being a good compromise as well, as she pulled him closer against her that damnable smile still on her face.

Arthur looked at the shade next to him and turned to face her fully. "You need to leave, Ariadne. I can't have you screwing this up like last time."

There was a flicker of intrigue as he said this and Ariadne pursed her lips in thought. "I don't know, Micah Roebuch seems to enjoy my company," she informed him archly, taking a step in Micah's wake.

Arthur sighed. He couldn't let her ruin this job again. Extraction from the same company twice was already risky as hell. He at least owed it to Trevor to make this right. He grabbed her arm, pulling her back towards him, surprised, she gave a small yelp as she staggered back.

His eyes widened with realization.

That bit of contact, that reaction was enough. He looked at where his hand stuck to her skin as if he was welded right onto her.

Ariadne in his dreams, though wanting her to be _the _Ariadne this whole time, was never like this. She was always enticing him. She was always antagonizing. He looked at where their skin just met briefly. Her tense stance. "You're real," he whispered. He could feel her presence; feel how different it was than before, than any of those other times. He made a grab at her hand, but she pulled it away again, her eyes burning with anger.

"Arthur," she said, her voice a warning this time.

His eyes turned bitter towards her. "I knew it."

She inclined her head to whisper back. "What are you talking about?"

"You can cut the shit already, Ariadne. I know it's you. It's _really_ you." His harsh words sounded worse in his own ears as he felt anger hit him and his blood starting pounding in his ears. "You're real. You're here."

There was a beat of silence as they took each other in, and Arthur felt betrayed and near boiling as he thought about their past conversations, how she treated him, how she made him feel guilty for even assuming.

"Arthur?"

That jolted him out of his calculating thoughts, and he looked at her face as she assessed everyone around them. Ariadne looked around quickly, before grabbing his hand and leading him through a row of columns behind them and then towards an empty hallway lined with ceiling high windows. They could hardly see the party now or hear any of the wealthy guests in the ballroom. "What are you talking about?"

"Ariadne, I know," he insisted, and again she led him to a room off to the side and he followed her through. She turned to face him. "You're real."

**xxxxx**

_**A/N:**__ dun, dun, dunnn! Thank you to Lauraax, Lazarus76, Audrey, and MusicIsMyHeroine for taking their time to review. You guys keep me going and happy! And huge thanks to the followers and favoriters out there_!_ I've been doing a ton of rewrites at the moment, so it's always really great to see people are interested. Thanks and please review!_

_Stay tuned to see exactly what Ariadne has up her sleeve._


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

"What's this ring?" Micah Roebuch asked as he swept Ariadne around the dance floor easily, her navy evening gown slightly coming under her feet as she moved.

Ariadne looked down at the long chain around her neck and pulled up the frown fighting its way onto her lips. Damn. She thought she was getting better at hiding it in dreams, but here the damn ring was, right around her neck.

It must be because she saw him again. Just the sight of him opened all sorts of dams. With him that close in her hotel room just listening to what he had to say brought all sorts of emotions back that she wasn't prepared to analyze.

Ariadne gave a small trill of laughter as she pulled one hand away from his to toy with the silver chain and silver band. "It's my grandmother's," she lied easily, letting it fall back onto her chest.

"It's beautiful," Micah added, though he wasn't looking at the necklace as he lead her through the final notes of the song and to the edge of the dancefloor.

Ariadne smiled and thanked him as the heir offered to get them drinks. She agreed, and started to look around the ballroom, preparing herself to find her other target.

Eames opted for this plan too. The stakes were just too high. A clean slate. An actual escape from this world she was dying to be in. The irony was biting.

She remembered at how adamant Arthur was in disallowing her to go back into the field, telling her that the inception job was enough for anyone to last a lifetime. But Ariadne was stubborn. She was young. She craved adventure and experience. And her love for the Point Man, while comforting and reliable, she wanted his support in this decision. She wanted him to tell her that she could do anything and would still be there for her.

She wanted him to stay.

"I knew it."

He had found her and came up to her in the dream. At first, Arthur was almost bored with her presence, apparently expecting her to pop up, most likely form her inefficient lying abilities in the hotel room. But as he spoke and as she refrained from committing to any sort of response, Ariadne was starting to realize something.

Ariadne felt her heart speed up as she looked at the realization dawn on Arthur, but she tried to play if off. "What are you talking about?" she asked, attempting coyness.

"You can cut the shit already, Ariadne," he said harshly, and Ariadne wrapped her hand around the bishop hidden in the pocket of her dress, if only to verify that this was, in fact a dream. "I know it's you. It's really you." The way he said it, slightly panicked but angry. She wondered at that statement. "You're real. You're here."

Well, the fact that he wasn't too surprised to see her in the dream first took her as surprise, but Ariadne was quick to realize that Arthur wasn't treating her with the same forward desperation as he had in the hotel room. No, he was cool and collected, almost savoring the moment as she spoke to him, but bored just the same. Almost like he'd been through this discussion before. A few careful words on her part, and she could tell that he was trying to handle her, as if she could put everything to hell in a few minutes.

Just like Mal did.

She looked at him. "Arthur?" She looked around the elegant ballroom dreamt into creation, searching for a place to talk privately, away from the rest of the projections.

"What are you talking about?" she asked, weighing her options as she waited for him to reply.

"Ariadne, I know," he insisted, and she walked down the hallway, remembering the basic layouts of the Roebuch manor. They entered a room, and she turned to face him. His eyes looked furious, and his next statement only confirmed her thoughts about a version of her being Mal. "You're real."

**xxxxx**

_Last Night . . ._

Ariadne had just seen him inside the club.

Precariously on her heels, she exited through the back of the building and the cold, fresh air hit her exposed skin immediately. The large metal door she just escaped through banged shut behind her. She shivered slightly as she curled her hair from her ear, turning on her earpiece.

"Eames?" she asked, catching her breath with her bare back against the cold brick wall. "Eames!" She didn't care about her shrillness or whether she was being overt. She breathed in, then out with exasperation.

The calm Englishman's voice was remarkably irritating to her frazzled nerves. "I'm here love."

She looked over her shoulder frantically. "Did you see him?" She looked the other way down the alley as if _he_ would miraculously appear, summoned because she was talking about him.

"The reason you went rogue, I assume?" he asked with calm indifference. Pffft. The English.

Ariadne rolled her head back against the wall. She closed her eyes and exhaled. "I couldn't have you in my head when I talked to him. He would've seen. I just—what is he doing here? I didn't know—I mean—"

"Ariadne, love," the Englishman said with a sigh. "I have no earthly idea what it is you're trying to say."

Ariadne looked around again and whispered, "Arthur's here."

**xxxxx**

Micah Roebuch had just exited the restrooms, slightly tipsy and faltering just slightly in his steps when Ariadne stumbled onto him in a purely calculated literal way.

He caught her by the elbows. "Whoa." He laughed, though he was unsteady himself. "Are you okay?"

_"Just go with the plan," Eames advised when she caught her breath outside. His voice was calm and his accent soothing. "Arthur has to be here from another extraction team. We need to get Micah before he does."_

_Ariadne, held her forehead in her palm, taking deep breaths. "I can't. I can't do it. Eames, this is crazy. Arthur's a professional. We can't do it."_

_She felt her nerves lose control, but Eames' voice brought her back. "Ariadne, you have got to calm down, darling."_

Near the restrooms, Ariadne pushed Micah away immediately, straightening herself. "Yeah. Fine," she said in quick, clipped tones, exhaling. "I'm sorry I ran into you." She hardly paid him attention as she adjusted her skirt, pulling it down slightly. The action drew his eyes to her bare legs. She watched as his eyes rove up her body and finally to her face. She refrained from rolling her eyes.

He still stood by her. "It's fine." She wavered on her heels, which were actually suggestion from Eames, who insisted that her legs looked miles longer with them. He also suggested the dress, and Ariadne cracked a joke about him moonlighting as a female consort. He only arched an eyebrow, and Ariadne remembered how often Eames would forge women in dreams.

He also favored bandage tight dresses.

"Are you okay, though?" Micah Roebuch was asking.

Ariadne curled her hair over her ear, out of her eyes. She waved her eyelashes a couple of times. "It's just these stupid shoes. I can't believe I let them talk me into them," she said with a slight laugh and roll of her eyes.

Micah looked at them, before dragging his eyes all the way to her face, lingering at her hips and her breasts. "Well, they're bastards whoever did that," he said with a charming smile. She thought of Eames.

_"Ariadne, you're underestimating yourself," Eames said outside. "You had this under control. You came up with this plan. You knew what you had to do. The fact that Arthur's there shouldn't affect things. You got this."_

Ariadne rolled her eyes and looked at Micah. "Tell me about it," she said with a slight huff, grabbing his arm and pulling one foot up to fix the strap, which wasn't painful at all. "I've been on my feet all night. I think I might just call it." She looked at him, assessing, waiting, counting.

He looked concerned. "No." Ariadne smirked with success. "It's way too early for that." He grabbed her hand, securing it at the crook of his elbow. "Why don't I get you a seat at the bar. Get you off your feet and maybe a drink?" Ariadne looked at the ground and then through her eyelashes as him in an attempt to appear acting flirtatiously.

_"What does Arthur have that you don't?" Eames asked and Ariadne took a step away from the wall, preparing to head inside. "He underestimated you were in the first place."_

Ariadne looked Micah over up and down. "Who said chivalry is dead?" she asked, placing her foot down and placing her hand in the crook of his arm. She leaned on him for effect. "I'm Charlie, by the way," she said, realizing that the Mr. Charles gambit was fresh in her head because of a certain point man out there.

"Micah."

"So tell me Micah," Ariadne said, smacking her lips appreciatively. "Where is it you're from?"

The dazed looking young heir eyed her up and down, before slapping the small glass against the sticky bar top. "New York. What about you? You're clearly American."

Ariadne smiled sweetly. "Ohio," she lied easily, gesturing to the bartender for another round. She imitated a hiccup, then feigned embarrassment. "Oh-p."

Micah laughed and took the opportunity to sidle up to her, chancing his arm around her shoulders. She turned her head and whispered in his ear, curling her finger under his chin. She knew the steps to this dance. She had it in the bag.

In her periphery, she was aware of Arthur's moves.

**xxxxx**

_**A/N: **__Hey! Sorry about the late update. Job hunting does that to a person. Anywho, thank you very much to Lauraa-x, Audrey, and Lazarus76. Virtual cookies and high-fives to you! And thank you to those who favorited and followed._


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Ariadne stepped into the hotel room and sagged against the white closed door, shutting her eyes. Playing dumb was so exhausting. The skirt of her navy sundress whipped around her legs as she settled.

Luckily, Micah kept her number last night, and luckily, he didn't ask too many questions about Arthur during brunch.

He was a nice guy actually. While born in with a silver spoon in his mouth, he wasn't as showy as she expected, though he did take pains to impress her, and she let him, almost losing herself in how purposefully he tried to make her smile.

Because, well, she hadn't dated in a while. After Arthur and after being swept into this work, she never could understand how Eames could just pick up women in the cities they visited, despite the Forger telling her that the best way to get over stick-in-the-mud was to find someone else.

"Oh?" she parried, arching her eyebrow. "Because illegal dream con is the perfect career to have while pursuing romantic entanglements? I hardly call it the best case scenario as far as dating is concerned."

Eames laughed. "First," he started, "calling it illegal dream con is redundant. Second, who said anything about dating or romance?"

Ariadne pursed her lips in overt disgust but smiled anyway at her friend's attempt to make her laugh.

He did make a big deal about Micah Roebuch though, pressuring her to wear that backless dress at the club and even advising her to step it up at brunch, when she was ready to leave in her normal scarf and jeans.

And sure, Micah Roebuch was charming and somewhat handsome and was extremely confidant, but he was a mark. A mark who was actually pretty fascinating in a rich boy sort of way.

Micah Roebuch was really interested in patronizing the arts apparently. Okay, through her recon, she knew that he liked art, but she figured that he was interested in the same way that any rich person was. But what she didn't know through her work on him was that he apparently patroned a lot of up coming artists, admitting to her in a bashful boy way that he never had the skills himself. He just had the dough.

So flirting with him wasn't that much of a chore or work. But every few seconds, she'd think about it, and her anxiety over seeing Arthur last night, just knowing that he needed Micah too made her cringe mentally. He reminded her that this was a job and that she shouldn't get too close to this subject.

Leaning against the door, she exhaled. Despite her experiences in the conning profession, she hated getting to know their mark, learning of their families, their dislikes, the reason of their company. She disliked getting too friendly, familiarizing herself with the mark as a person, rather than a goal. She knew she made that mistake already.

It was easier the first time around. During the Fischer job, no one really spoke about Fischer as anything more than a case, a goal, and her interaction in delving into his background was kept minimum. She was just a contractor to a hired staff. That was how well and chummy everyone treated one another.

Of course, she had Arthur. Dependable, reliable Arthur, who she caught staring at her so often, that she just had to ask him one night when he offered to walk her home.

He thought it was obvious, he said, that stupid, smug grin on his face and nothing the least sheepish about him—though he did have some off-kilter moments when they were close in dreams—as he told her good night at her doorstep.

Their first date didn't seem like a date at all too. He asked if she wanted to get some food after everyone left, and she agreed, not thinking too much of it. Only, much to her chagrin, she was slightly underdressed when Arthur walked her to a swank restaurant, one of those hard to get in places in Paris that had a killer view of the Notre Dame, and he asked for his reservation. Again, he didn't act as if anything were amiss when they sat down, and while she watched him, fuming.

He feigned innocence when she accused him of shanghaiing her into a date, of not even giving her the courtesy to get properly ready. She tugged at her scarf and sat straight in her jeans and loose t-shirt, while Arthur reassured her in the brightest, most matter-of-fact way possible, that she didn't need to change a thing about herself. And she chose to believe him. Maybe it was because he had that straight way of talking or maybe it was because the champagne went to her head, but it could undoubtedly be the way his eyes carefully took her in, appreciating her in the most careful way before he said it.

She just chose to believe him. Like the time when he tricked a kiss out of her in the second level on the Fischer job, she believed him.

Or the time he told her he was done with dream conning and she believed him.

"How was your date darling?" a familiar British voice asked cheerfully amongst the clink of china.

Ariadne opened her eyes and looked up to see the Englishman poised at the nearby couch and coffee table, a tea tray set out. Eames had a saucer and cup in his hands as he smiled, taking a polite sip that looked almost comical against his large frame.

One of those habits, she started to appreciate about Eames was his traditions, which coupled with his bawdy humor and jokester sensibility, seemed pretty far out. But beneath a lot of the sarcasm and devil-may-care attitude, Eames was pure gentleman. He had tea everyday, proper tea with cream and pastries, and he always made sure that Ariadne and he had proper sleeping arrangements. Like now for instance, where he took the couch, claiming that the bed was too much for his back. He claimed this on their past four jobs, and Ariadne gave up on trying to play fair and let Eames have his way. Any attempts at falling asleep on the couch herself, and she'd wake up on the mattress anyway, mainly because Eames was a big softie and she was a heavy sleeper.

Ariadne made her way over to the couch and sank into it, casting away her lady-like demeanor, despite her dress. "We're going out again tonight," she said with self-conscious cheer, her head lolling to the back couch cushion. Her chin pointed onto her collarbone as she looked at the tea set on the table. "We'll do it then."

Her phrasing could have been better, she realized as Eames lifted a rakish eyebrow in her direction.

"Eames," she sighed, annoyed. "Don't start."

He laughed it off and she grabbed a throw pillow to cover her face.

Eames nodded. "Good, good." He took another sip and placed the delicate china onto the table. "So everything's set. Tea?" he asked.

Through her pillow she replied, "Yes." And she lowered it to her lap and watched him as he prepared it for her with a small amount of sugar but enough cream. He placed the cup in front of her on the table, but Ariadne noticed a slight politeness to his actions. A primness to how he carried the cup before her and how he treated his own saucer. Granted, a sense of meticulousness came along with a tea tray, but this was different. This was self-conscious and expectant. Ariadne looked at her partner through the edge of her eyes, her chin pressing down onto her collarbone as she sunk further, her back absorbed into the brocade couch cushion with her horrible posture. She gripped the cushion in her lap. "Go on," she prompted.

"What?" he asked innocently, taking another sip of his brew.

"Just tell me what Arthur wants."

Eames blinked a few times. Too much, she thought, and he realized his error. "I have no idea what you're talking about." Too snippily, she noted.

Ariadne sat up a little. "Cut line Eames," she said testily. "He figured you'd be my only contact left in dream con. He's already found you by now." She watched him carefully, his eyes shifting.

Eames licked his lips, placed his cup down, and stretched his arm across the back of the printed couch, his leg coming up onto the opposite knee as he began to look down at her in his patronizing way she grew accustomed to sometimes. "He's on the right track," he admitted, "but I doubt he can find me properly." He said this with suave reassurance, even selling it by picking at his forefinger nail with his thumb in a gesture to show how little of his attention this all deserved.

"Where does he think you are?" she asked, peeking up at him.

He turned to her carelessly, his thumb and forefinger still twiddling. "Cairo."

"And he'll believe it?"

He looked askance. "Give me some credit, Ariadne, I know him as well as you," he said. Then he stopped himself. "Perhaps not as well as you," he said with a lecherous wave of the eyebrows and a small smirk. The joke egged her towards anger, and she saw him change tactics. He was all business as he explained, "I've left some crumbs to keep him guessing, but as long as the job's set for tonight, there shouldn't be a problem. We'll be gone by the morning. None's the wiser."

"And you still don't think he'd figure it out? He's already pretty close."

He smirked knowingly at her. "I have you to blame for that, pet."

"As if I had—"

"So," he said, getting up, cutting into their discussion purposefully. He walked over to the bed, where Ariadne slept. She just noticed that all of Eames' pillow and sheets were no longer on the couch. They always refused maid service, being criminals, so the tidiness of her own bed was odd . . .

He wouldn't. Apprehension dawned on her and made her sit up, her wavy hair slightly wild from lying on it.

"Eames. You didn't," she started with warning.

Eames went on, unhearing. "He has to fall upon you. I found a hotel nearby. You're booked there, and you need—"

She stood quickly up and made her way to the other side of the bed. She forgot about the small heels she wore and stumbled slightly as she walked around the couch to follow him. "No. No. I can't see him right now." She just saw him last night for God's sake, and given the choice of that, she knew what she would pick. Her heart raced at the thought.

"It wouldn't make sense if he couldn't find you. He'd get suspicious if you were under a name."

"And what am I supposed to say?" she demanded. "Oh I'm traveling to seedy, underground clubs _by myself_ for fun?" she said with a faux lightness to her voice. "Who would believe that?"

"It's Europe. People do that. Just say you were nostalgic," he replied with a vague wave of his hand. "It really doesn't matter. I doubt he'd question you that far, and if you ever fail to answer anything, fall back on the fact that you're angry at him. Or try those wiles and just snog him."

"Because that's what got us here in the first place," she answered back, her arms outstretched in exasperation.

Eames leaned onto his arms on the mattress and looked at her rationally. "Ariadne, I couldn't care less what this tiff between you and stick-in-the-mud is, but if it gets in the way of this deal, I'm going to have to forget you."

She knew he didn't mean to downplay her relationship. And she knew he only said it because of important this job was for both of them. It meant a new start, one which they both desperately wanted. But it didn't mean that she wasn't hurt by her partner's lack of empathy.

She peeked at him with her arms crossed over her chest, barely giving. "You wouldn't."

Eames looked at her, neither one giving in until he groaned, relaxing himself. "I probably wouldn't, but I need you to do your part here."

Ariadne knew she owed him. All of Eames' effort on her part to protect her. All of the times he shielded her from the unsavory parts of this business. The fact that he came to find her when she called. It was fair to ask her and that it really was her turn to make this right. Hadn't she figured this would happen one day? Wasn't it a subtle, constant fear and almost wish some days?

She heard the stories. Eames was her only guide through this life once she got started and he explained as much as he could, though he too was just a renegade on the periphery. He was usually enlisted as a thief or forger, never taking on whole projects himself. But he explained to her how small the circle of constant extraction work was. It was dangerously small in the sense that people could keep tabs of one another, but in their circumstance and with a patron like Cobol, that was unlikely.

Even if she was part of the mythological inception job, Ariadne's name wasn't part of the discussions she'd hear when she did run into fellow con artists. These times were rare.

She heard the familiar names often, but to be fair, Arthur had gained some sort of notoriety because of his work with Cobb and the Fischer case, which Eames always down played with a coy smile that hinted at more.

She supposed you couldn't just pretend it never happened, but there was no talk of a grad student architect in the stories she'd hear about the inception. There was never talk of Arthur trying to settle down. She was never mentioned, and frankly, no one really cared to ask her, which was just fine.

Maybe it was because she wasn't so much as a contractor but a hired professional. Cobol knew of her involvement with the Point Man. Her supervisors knew at least, especially at the beginning, when she couldn't train her subconscious to properly stifle itself. Since then, she'd been better at swallowing any hints of her relationship with him down.

Two years ago, six months after Arthur left, Ariadne reached out to Eames, and thankfully, he came right to her aid. She never forgot how quickly he dropped everything to help her, or how much he had since then. While not constant partners—Eames was a little freer to leave and travel—ever since that job two years ago, Eames came to rely on her more than he tended to, she knew. He admitted it once that he hardly ever made partnerships or teams a habit. Cobb and Arthur, sure, were as constant as it got, mainly because old craftsmen tended to know of one another, but Eames chose to go on his own. A free-agent. It was easier, he told her.

"Then why stick with me?" she had asked in that bar back in Guam, a cold bottle of beer in her hands as she asked.

He seemed to consider the question for a moment before taking a swig out of his own bottle. "I don't know," he admitted, placing the bottle down onto the bar top. "Maybe you just impress me."

"Or maybe you won't admit that you like having me around?"

"Maybe you're just convenient," he added, leaning towards her and he laughed as she blushed.

But Ariadne didn't back down. "Nah," she replied with slight moxie. "You just like having me around."

And she saw the small smile on his lips as he took a longer drink from his beer. It was a look that didn't refute anything she just said.

Ariadne stood in front of the bed, looking at her small rucksack at the foot of it. "Fine," she said a little more petulantly than she intended. She grabbed the straps calmly to make up for that bit of selfishness.

Eames handed her her information as she began to step towards the door.

"I'll see you tonight," he called after her. She could hear the suppressed laughter in his voice.

She didn't reply but gave a jerky wave behind her as she slammed out. Ariadne wasn't sure if she dreaded the idea of Arthur finding her or if she wanted him to. But she sincerely didn't like the idea of sitting around, waiting for him to come by.

**xxxxx**

_**A/N: **__Thank you Lazarus76, Lauraa-x, and musicismyheroine for their reviews for the last chapter! And for sticking with the story! You guys are supa' cool, and I love you for your support! Hope you like where the story's going._


	7. Chapter 7

******Chapter 7**

Ariadne liked the hotel room Eames booked her. It was a respectable place, small and quaint. Lots of florals in a grandmothery sort of way. She almost enjoyed her alone time there, until she remembered what it exactly was she was waiting for.

She got to work quickly. She unpacked her toiletries, scattering her make-up on the counter, opening the complimentary soap to wash her hands for a long time. It dissolved fast. She started through the bottles of lotion and shampoo, pouring half the contents down the drain before placing them on the bathtub edge. She took her perfume and hairspray and put some into the air, waving her hands around to waft.

She went to her bag, picking it up to drop on the floor at the foot of the bed. On her haunches, she clawed her way through it, searching for the little black dress she wore last night and her shoes. Success! She stood and attempted to drape it onto a nearby chair, before tossing her heels in the direction of the bathroom. She plopped herself onto the mattress to wear it in slightly, before choosing to just lay there and wait, staring at her ceiling and concentrating on her breathing, balling her hands at her sides, touching the lush comforter under her.

She wasn't sure, but she thought she saw the familiar back of Arthur leaving the café on her date with Micah, but she shook it off to return to conversation with the heir, a ready smile on her face.

On her left hand, she did release the tension of her hand at the edge of the table. Her thumb drew over her ringer finger slightly just to be sure, and the nakedness of her finger relieved her. Then she did her next test, setting back casually and pulling her hand over her chest as if to catch her breath. No necklace.

She had a ring. She used to keep it around her neck with a long chain after Arthur left, hopefulness and sentimentality not letting her get rid of it, until the hire asked about it. And Ariadne felt almost silly having it on her. No one just carried diamond engagement rings around their necks like that.

When he asked her to marry him, Ariadne knew the answer immediately without even thinking, but that didn't account for the wide, gasping breath she took when she heard Arthur ask as they made their usual walk to their usual café on their usual night for going out.

_He wound his arm around her waist, his hand on her hip as she leaned into him while they stepped along, their legs in time. Ariadne made a comment about how it was psychological impossible to not walk with the same foot forward when you were walking with someone, and Arthur argued that it had to, unless you noticed._

_"No," she argued, looking up at him. "It's a fact. Scientists at Yale did extensive research on it."_

_Arthur lifted his eyebrows at this. "Yale?" She nodded. "Really?" She nodded more emphatically. "Which department?" he posed, clearly amused._

_"The psychology department," she said with a little less zeal._

_"That's bull."_

_"No, really. Try it!" She stepped away from him, and she kept walking as Arthur stopped to consider tactics. He caught up with her on a different footing, watching her legs every once and while, and maintaining his speed. And Ariadne was about to deliver a resounding I-told-you-so, when he started to laugh. She looked at him, confused as he pulled her towards him. _

_"Your legs," he pointed out. She frowned, looking down at her jeans. "They're in time with mine."_

_And Ariadne settled into his arm as she told him that she knew it was real and how she was right. "But you made up the authority of it," Arthur pointed out. She conceded that she did, but that the theory was pretty real. "So if I started to speed up, would you?" picking up his pace._

_"No," she said. "I'm too lazy to do that."_

_"What if I slowed down?" he asked, taking elongated steps._

_"Then I'd leave you, because I'm hungry."_

_"What if I asked you to marry me?"_

_She stopped in her tracks, staring at him slightly open mouthed, and Arthur had to turn to her. "What if you asked to marry me?" she asked right back. He didn't say anything but looked bashfully caught. She tried not to gape. "You do realize that you have to ask me to marry you to get an answer, right?" she said in wonder._

_Arthur laughed, pulling her hand out, studying her fingers, running his own against her palm, her wrist, sending familiar tingles up her spine. "Psychologically, it is impossible to walk down a sidewalk without falling in-step with the person next to you," he started, peering up at her in that way that made her breathless._

_"Yeah I think they did a study at Yale," she added, tersely, curious, smiling at him._

_"You made that up," Arthur said without a flinch, "though the science may be true, and I realized a long time ago, tonight especially, that it is psychologically impossible for me to walk down this sidewalk with you, perfectly in-step," he adds, "and not help but think that this is exactly what we should do for the rest of our lives."_

_Ariadne smirked. "I would probably want to sit down, sometimes, nap, get food . . ." she said to be difficult._

_"So Ariadne," he said, looking at her, ignoring her. It was only when he started to get onto his knee that she stepped back and became self-conscious. "Would you—"_

There was a harsh rap at her door and Ariadne sat up. The small noise made her heart jolt. She didn't want to open it. She knew who was on the other side. She knew what role she had to play to ditch him.

What was this she was feeling. Guilt? She was angry with him, true, but she didn't feel justified. She just felt that it was easier.

There it was again. A sharp, curt knock that imposed its way into her head and brought all sorts of squeamishness that hadn't been there in years. She felt her heart flinch at it, and she thought about the plan. She pulled her features into place and stood on the other side of the door, leaning on her fingers pressed to the back of it. She spoke to him, her voice edged with a stagnant anger she recalled.

She let him in.

He sat on her bed.

He spoke to her, almost desperate for proper answers, and the more he did, the more Ariadne felt herself zip up, knowing that he gave up access to those stories years ago, that he made his choice when he left her alone.

When he left her to fend for herself when Cobol came.

Arthur stood in her hotel room, looking deep into her eyes, suspicion, calculation reigning his posture and actions. "Are you extraction?" he demanded.

She watched as Arthur stared her down, assessing her stance acutely. She felt like she was on show, but she also knew that Arthur could tell if she was lying. She felt her heart rate rise, and she swallowed it down, fueling her frazzled nerves into her anger at this man, per Eames' suggestion.

Her eyes widened at the question, then she pursed her lips, attempting to school the peal of emotions coming over her. She curved her lips into a saccharine smile. "You've thought this out, clearly," she said thoughtfully, her voice oil and slick.

"Are you in extraction?" he asked again, a little unsure from her response. She heard the lessening of accusation in his tone. "I saw you at the café with Micah. It can't be a coincidence that I saw you with my mark and that Eames is nowhere to be heard from. He claims Egypt but a lot of accounts aren't lining up."

Eames was so smug about this yesterday too. She was going to have a field day telling him.

"You asked me this last night, Arthur," she reminded him calmly. "But no," she said with a small huff. "I'm not."

She felt his eyes rest on her, before breaking away. "I'm sorry. I just thought—you really hate at me don't you?" he asked, and Ariadne felt herself almost give everything up at that.

No. No she didn't. She just didn't forgive him.

"You left without telling me two years ago," she said, instead. "I think I have a reason why I should hate you."

He stepped towards her, and she stiffened at the two inches of difference. She felt self-conscious and unstable. She didn't trust him being that close to her. She wasn't sure what she would do, but she also didn't want to back away from this, like it was a challenge. She stood there, absolutely still, seeing what he would do. Her eyes darted towards their feet and she licked her bottom lip again "No, this is different. There's something you're not telling me, I can see it." She felt him take a step back and she could breath properly again.

She was never that great at hiding things from him. Everything about between them was so upfront and just _there_. Even when she realized that she liked him, she knew he knew, because he could just see it. Even when she realized that he liked her, she knew because Arthur wasn't the type to shy away from something. He was pure zest and determination when it came to those things.

She took a careful inhale, hoping that it came out even.

A sudden buzz cut through the room, and they both looked at the source. Arthur pulled out his mobile to read it. He looked up from reading the text message, his demeanor immediately changed. "I'm sorry. I have to—I'm working," he said, apologetically. She noted how he kept his project vague.

And if there was a more appropriate reminder that they were fine just where they were, then this was it. Her tight-lipped smile was bittersweet. "You always are."

"Ariadne," he coaxed. He looked at his phone, then at her expression. "I'm sorry. How long are you staying? We should meet up." He was unnerved. He was talking too fast. He seemed almost desperate.

Her eyes remained blank as possible as she watched him take steps away from her. He was near the door.

"I really have to go."

"Go."

He stood there, assessing her, and Ariadne felt all ten times uncomfortably aware of how she looked. How unruly her hair had become. How she let her eyeliner smear after her brunch date with Micah. How she felt inconsolably alone when she realized, after the first five months of his disappearance, that she was alone with a stupid engagement ring and no answers.

And he did something that made her eyes widen and her resolve waver, he made his way back to her, rushing. She was surprised as his eyes grazed over her in that familiar way they used to, like he was grateful that she was there, like he couldn't believe that she was real and with him.

"Will you wait?" he asked, and Ariadne's inner self chuckled at this sentiment. She didn't, after all, right? "Just until morning." He looked almost like a child when he peeked at her through his eyelashes and added, "please?"

And there was that smile of his again. That beseeching, charming smile where his dimples shone and his entire façade broke down, and he was using it on her without even thinking. She never realized how terrible her memories were, compared to seeing this smile in person.

It was dazzling.

Ariadne just looked on and forced a cool tone as she replied, "You need to go Arthur."

She waited to catch her breath as Arthur headed out of her hotel room. She waited for a few minutes, not daring to move, until she was sure that he was in the elevator, and she headed towards her bag, grabbing her mobile to shoot a text to Eames. She didn't trust her voice yet.

_Where are you?_

She stood there, holding her mobile in one hand and her other resting on her chin, her fingers came to her mouth as she watched the closed door, so sure that the Point Man would be back.

He was different than she remembered. He was unhinged, almost careless of the slight unease he had about him. She hardly saw that when they were together, rather, when they were comfortable together and when he knew he could be free around her.

But it was always easy for them, wasn't it? The way that he could be candid and the way that she could ask him anything. She didn't understand how far everything would get those first months together during the Fischer job, not really.

_Ariadne leaned on the brick wall behind the warehouse, holding her forehead with the tips of her fingers. Five times dying from dreams and she still wasn't used to it. She felt sick and dizzy. She could still feel the remnants of pain from the pretend gunshots, the drowning, the stabs. She leaned forward as if she was going to heave up her lunch. She straightened up when she heard the metal door near her open, and she wiped her face with the back of her cardigan sleeve and pulled her hair out of her eyes._

_"It's not always like that," a matter-of-fact voice said as it approached her._

_She opened her eyes and looked at him, knowing whom it was already. "Really?" she asked. "Because it pretty much sucks," she said, holding her side with a flat smile._

_Arthur leaned on the wall with her. "You don't hold onto it as much when it happens," he said, looking ahead of him. "I mean." He looked at her. "You just get used to it I guess." Out of nowhere he handed over stick of foil wrapped gum, and Ariadne took it in a daze. "But that's not all that's bothering you, is it?"_

_She pealed the wrapper back and chewed it. The strong winter mint started settling her stomach as she leaned back too. "How much do you know about Mal and Cobb?"_

_There was a small quirk of her eyebrows, but he didn't hesitate to answer. "Since the beginning. I knew Mal before they got together. She helped me get out of a nasty gambling debt, really. It got me into this whole career in the first place."_

_Ariadne never questioned why he just said it. He just put out all of this information off the bat. It took her weeks to get anything out of Cobb. She hardly knew anything of Eames._

_"Really?" she had asked._

_"Yeah." Arthur shoved his hands into his pockets. "She needed to knockout one of the sharks in my gambling ring and asked me to keep time and press the plunger for her and one of her coworkers. I did, wondering the whole time what was going on, so afterwards, I followed them, and when they caught me, they gave me a shot._

_"Mind for numbers, you know," he said with a laugh, pointing at his temple. "M.I.T. top of my class."_

_"And you used your powers for evil," she joked._

_"Counting cards is just so simple," he explained with a shrug. "That same rush, that same risk all came back with—" _

_She nodded in understanding. "Dream con."_

_"Exactly. Pure creation," he went on wistfully. "They kept me on because I also had a mind for details."_

_"Yeah?" Ariadne asked, intrigued. "What do you mean?"_

_Arthur had a smile on his face. "You pick up on small things, when you gamble, hoping that it can give you an advantage," he continued. "Dirty finger nails, clothing, twitches. Anything. Some things can be a tell and some things can just be things to read into. I pointed it out to Mal, who was impressed enough to keep me around._

_"I did recon work for her for a few people, until I ended up just plugging myself in once."_

_Ariadne's eyes widened. "And what did she do?"_

_"Oh she killed me on the spot," Arthur said with a laugh. "I mean, it was impetuous, and I shouldn't have done it. But I watched her and another extractor do it enough, that I just wanted to see. After that, she figured it was best to show me, rather than me just trying it on my own again." Arthur turned back to her. His tone more alert. "Feel better?"_

_Ariadne smiled despite herself, taking a few chews out of her gum. "Yeah," she said, testing her own sensations, focusing on her lack of nausea. "Yeah I do."_

_He seemed to already know the answer. "Good." He took a step away and began to head towards the back door._

_"Y'know, it's weird," she said after him, not really looking at him as she spoke._

_He stopped and looked at her over his shoulder. "What is?"_

_She shrugged, a little self-conscious at her thoughts coming out that way. "We've only known each other for a few months, and," she said a little jaggedly. She stopped and licked her lips. "You're nice, Arthur," she decided to say, "thanks for telling me about yourself."_

_Arthur didn't say anything else, but he nodded._

In her hotel room, Ariadne started when her phone rang in her hands. Without thinking she accepted the call and brought it to her ear, trying her best to catch up with the present. "Ariadne?" Eames asked, and it took her a second longer to realize that she was in her hotel room at a job years later.

"Yeah?" she asked, looking around her.

"Are you all right?"

Ariadne breathed a sigh of relief. "I'm fine, just shaken. Arthur's been here like you said, but I think it's too cagey. We can't do it tonight." She made her way towards the window and looked out, half expecting the point man to be outside. "I'll cancel my date."

"We'll have to."

She drew her curtain and sat on her bed. "Why?"

She heard Eames sigh wearily, regrettably. "I saw Trevor at Micah's hotel."

"Shit," she said, standing up. Her eyes looked around her pristine hotel room. She did her best to unpack and look lived in before Arthur came, but she knew his eyes would immediately pick up on something. She looked at the towels folded neatly in the bathroom. "I'll be there in five," she said, walking towards the bathroom.

"What do you plan to do?"

"If I don't get there first, we'll use Yusuf's stuff," she decided, shutting off the phone.

**xxxxx**

_**A/N: **__Thank you Lauraa-x and musicismyheroine! I hope you like guys like where it's going! Per request, I made the past scenes in italics for more comfortable reading. I'll get to updating a little more regularly too, rather than weekly._


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Arthur had to continue reminding himself that they were in a dream.

With the decadent and the wealthy right outside their door, Arthur closed it shut, shutting out the orchestra and the chatter, the clinks of champagne glasses, the noise. He closed it all off and stepped closer to her, until he was almost chest-to-chest. He breathed in her scent. That familiar scent that he took comfort in remembering. He took comfort in it not changing.

His heart pumped rapidly in his chest as he took in her expression, her wide eyes, searching his demeanor. The room itself seemed to pump, to shake slightly, and he felt almost claustrophobic in it. It was his emotions running away with him. He needed to breathe. Breathe.

Was the room shaking?

He exhaled.

It wasn't.

She didn't flinch as he invaded her personal space.

He brought his hands onto her waist, then towards her face. His gestures slightly frantic as he tried to make sense of this. He felt her smooth skin beneath his fingers, and began to come closer, their faces almost touching. "My dreams would never compare to this," he whispered, feeling that pull towards her. "Or this." He ran his fingers across her back, and his lips began to descend of their own design. "This has to be real."

"Arthur." Her voice held warning now, a slight crack of order, a break from—

Immediately he took a step back and searched his pocket for his totem. Debating the weight again, he looked accusing at her. "I knew it." Whatever spell happened died as he looked at her.

Immediately he reached for his gun, but at the same moment, she reached for hers. Though where in that floor-length navy dress she hid it, he wasn't really sure. He pointed it directly at her head. She did the same. "You're hijacking my extraction, aren't you?"

"What makes you think that you didn't just put me here?" she asked in a clipped tone that didn't sound very much like Ariadne. He almost doubted himself.

She had a deadened expression and her eyes were slits as she focused the barrel at him. Their bodies mirrored one another.

"This isn't real, but I know that you are," he said. He held his gun up.

She angled her gun at his head. Dream Ariadne would do that actually. "I wouldn't, Arthur," she warned with a serious smile.

"If I shoot you, you're out of the dream."

"You wouldn't shoot me Arthur," she said, so sure of herself.

He held it at her. "Not unless you were real. If you're just a projection, then this solves things easily." And Arthur almost believed that, though he had never shot any version of her before. Ever. She didn't need to know that though.

Ariadne looked worried, but her gun never wavered. "I wouldn't do that," she repeated, though he could tell her resolve wavered.

And Arthur kept his finger tight on the trigger as he studied her. "Give me a reason not to," he suggested.

She kept hers aimed at him too, her mark so sure as her arm kept steady. Her expression debated him for a moment, before sagging slightly. "I'm real," she admitted quietly, almost like a sigh amdist the built up tension.

"I knew it." He held the gun up and cocked it, aiming. For some reason, this made it all better to. "We'll talk later."

Ariadne's eyes held real fear at this, making him hesitate. "Wait! I wouldn't do that."

Arthur bit down his resolve and tried to not follow his initial instincts, but her eyes looked genuinely frightened at staring at the loaded barrel. "Why?" he asked, suspiciously. His arm was still extended.

"This isn't normal soma. This is Yusuf's own brand," she explained. He saw her arm waver as she spoke. "And you know what happens there." There was no need for any elaboration at that. Ever since the inception job, Arthur came to know Yusuf as an artist with what the man could do with SOMA. Yusuf often spoke about making different compounds that catered to a variety of needs, but they always came with a price. They all learned that the hard way on the inception job.

Ariadne resorted to this extreme measure in this case, and Arthur needed to figure out why, and what exactly this version did.

Arthur saw in her expression and stance that she wasn't kidding. Hijacking a dream was careless and risky to work well. The brain worked faster in dreams, so even a millisecond of difference to attempt interference—hijacking a con for example—could mean a disaster.

It was like trying to jump onto a moving train that was well on its way. You never knew where you would end up in the landscape or if you'd end up near the dreamers even. You'd have to find them without attracting too much attention from the projections.

But with the right drugs, he knew, you could do it. You just needed the right stuff and the right motivation to even attempt it. Placing an extra sedative on top of that to slow down the initial dreamer's time frame, maybe.

"I'm not keeping you here Ariadne. You're not going to take my job and God knows," he added as an afterthought. Ariadne, at least this one standing before him, was completely different from what she once was. The same one he remembered leaving all those years ago. And the fact that she would take that impetuous step—a step that even Cobb selfishly made—made her dangerous to everyone and herself.

Her face revealed nothing at his comment, but she rolled her eyes, breaking into the scowl at least. "Well that sucks, because I need this job."

It was in the way she said it, hardly pleading but with more conviction that made him replay her words over and over. Curiosity getting the better of him, Arthur couldn't help but ask, "Why?"

The drastic measures in which she entered this dream already told him that it was necessary, but hearing it only fueled him further. Ariadne walked over to the door and then back, her gun still rose at his head all the while. She purposefully wasn't going to say anything.

"Eames is here isn't he?" he asked, a little conversationally instead as if they weren't pointing barrels at one another and having a normal conversation. As if they had just run into a party like old chums or something.

She posed her gun, rather than answer.

Yeah, chums wouldn't have firearms.

"Well, good luck," he said instead. "You forget that this isn't your dream. You won't be able to figure out where he hid anything."

"Why do you think I'm aiming a gun at your head?" she asked sarcastically.

He held his gun more firmly as he realized the threat. He smiled, feeling like he gained the upper hand. "Threats are not going to work with me, sweetheart," he replied just as noncommittally back.

Ariadne's face looked a little miffed and he knew he was right.

Her audacity at even suggesting bargaining his mind was laughable. He taught her everything she knew about dream con. He taught her how to act with cold blood precision, and even then he didn't believe it when she attempted it. She may be the more imaginative and the more amazing and open, but she wasn't cold and calculating. Arthur loved her for that.

_During the inception job, he took it upon himself to show her._

_"Shooting a gun is not fun," he chided as Ariadne stood yards away and looked at the various targets in front of them. They were in a constructed gun range bunker, something she concocted from the movies, she told them, for target practice._

_Her arms wavered and after each shot, her shoulders reacted. Her face broke into a grin when she would do a good job, and when she was concentrating, she squinted her eyes to make sure she hit the mark. She was still a novice._

_"Let her enjoy herself, Arthur," Eames said, studying a particularly admirable bullet hole in one of the shadowed targets. The Englishman walked over to where Ariadne pointed at another proud shot and he applauded her. Ariadne feigned a curtsy before laughing._

_Arthur never knew what to do with these moments between these two. He felt slightly shut out from their fun, desperate to join in, and simultaneously jealous of the mismatched Forger for being able to make her laugh._

_"We don't have much time," he heard himself say, then hated for how pragmatic he was._

_Eames placed his hands on his hips and made a grumpy looking face that chewed out voiceless reprimands. Ariadne started to laugh, before daring a look at Arthur, who just scowled._

_Arthur waved them off, placing the gun to his head, and all he heard before he woke up was Ariadne telling him to wait._

_When he woke up, she was sitting in her lawn chair looking at him. "You shouldn't let him get to you," she chided softly. Arthur looked over at the dreaming Forger nearby. "We were just playing. I'm sorry, I'll be more prepared next time."_

_"It's fine," Arthur replied, turning to face her. "But I'm not like him, Ariadne." Once the words were right out of his mouth, he wanted to swallow them back up. He felt his face heat up._

_"What do you mean?" she wondered._

_"I'm not," Arthur stopped to search the word, feeling like he had dug himself a hole and was just digging deeper. "I'm not light, like him. I take what I do seriously."_

_"And that's admirable," she said. "I respect that."_

_"But I'm not fun or—"_

_"Arthur."_

_"And I can't be that way with you," he struggled to say, peering at her, his heart beating slightly in his chest. He never realized attraction like this before. It was subtle in how he wanted to impress her or be near her or just talk to her. It was so subtle a feeling, but Arthur, perceptive to details like these, even within himself, knew that something was different. He knew it was her._

_He wanted her, and Arthur, understanding details and calculations as he did, felt things to the smallest detail, read into things acutely, and hid his own desires until they felt too overwhelming that they'd just spill out of his mouth. Like in awkward professions that had nothing to do with shooting guns._

_Ariadne licked her lips, carefully considering what to say next, and Arthur watched her, noting how her fingers tapped lightly in her lap, how she looked anywhere but at him, before she leaned forward. She was close enough to his lawn chair that she could reach him, and she laid her hand over his. She smelled wonderful._

_"I wouldn't want it in any other way, Arthur," she assured him, and Arthur felt almost defeated at this. Any other way, she had said. But as if she heard his thoughts or heard her own words, Ariadne hesitated, then she looked at her fingers, and Arthur felt her start to grip his own. Her thumb deliciously running up the back of his palm. Their wrists were still linked with the plastic tubing._

_"Actually, Arthur. I—" And Arthur felt his breath hitch as her words, seeing her eyes soften at the edges._

_"You two are no fun," Eames interrupted, worming his way into what Arthur was starting to consider a very important moment. The Forger wasn't winning any points with the Point Man today._

_Ariadne pulled her hand back slightly and smiled at the Englishman. Her tone was a total 180 from what it was a second ago. "I don't think we'll need you any more during target practice," she said lightly. "We've decided that you're a distraction."_

_Eames laughed. "Ah, yes, you should keep your eyes on the targets, rather than me, darling," he teased, and Ariadne didn't bite back but looked at Arthur._

_And Arthur felt that maybe the Englishman did have his uses after all, even if his comment was making the architect blush. It was Arthur's hand she reached for again._

In the room, Ariadne wasn't the same novice with the gun. Her arms held steady and her eyes never faltered from his face as she poised the gun at herself.

His blood ran cold. He took a worried step towards her. "Fine." She held it to her temple, a little more assuredly, and out of reflex, Arthur began to lower his own. "If you don't tell me, then I might as well ransom something," she said so casually, like she might as well eat a grapefruit or go do laundry.

"What are you doing?" Though he already had this weighing suspicion of her plan.

"I'm not going to shoot you Arthur, I told you we used Yusuf's stuff. I wouldn't do that to you," she promised, "but I need you to tell me the layout and I'm going to gamble the only thing I think would matter to you."

Arthur schooled his features and raised his gun slightly. "You think so highly of yourself that you would—"

She cocked it. Her eyes never once blinked, and for that second Arthur realized how much she changed as the sound echoed in the vibrating room. She changed not only in appearance or in manner, but in her entire person. She was a liar, a thief, and a low person, using something he cared about so much in this world, something he still cared for, against him.

He debated calling her bluff, but something in her face told him that she would do it anyway.

She stood there with the gun aimed right at her temple.

"You really hate me, don't you?" he asked in her hotel room. Though now he knew that that was a careful ploy. He remembered seeing the nicely folded towels still sitting in the bathroom, how he thought it odd.

She never answered him straight, he realized as he walked out to meet Trevor. She never refuted it, even a little.

Ariadne still stood there with the gun aimed at her temple. "Well, Arthur?" she posed.

And Arthur lowered his gun grimly. "No. Don't. Just don't."

Ariadne didn't move her gun away. "Who's dream is this?" she asked, still holding herself hostage.

He knitted his eyebrows. "Ariadne—"

"Just tell me," she ordered.

"We should talk about this."

Ariadne stood up straighter. Her hand tightened around the trigger. She looked like she was about to take a bitter pill.

And Arthur reacted in the best way he knew how. "Trevor's," he told her reluctantly yet quickly.

At that moment, the door to the room creaked and Arthur and Ariadne's guns rose in perfect timing. Behind the door, the figure made a careful step into the room, revealing himself to be a suited Eames. He held his arms up when he saw the two barrels pointed in his direction. "What the bloody hell is going on?" He looked at Arthur then at Ariadne, who posed her gun back at her temple. "Well, that's certainly one way to figure this out, but I guess the old team's back together, eh?" he joked, his eyes shifting from Arthur to Ariadne.

Arthur didn't lower his gun. "What's going on?"

Eames walked easily into the room, as if Arthur wasn't pointing a gun right at his face, and as if Ariadne didn't look like she was being suicidal. "You see, Arthur dear. We're hijacking your dream."

Arthur remained alert. "I've noticed. Where's Trevor?"

"I shot him."

Arthur looked at Ariadne then at Eames. "What?"

"Just with a tranquilizer," Eames reassured him. "I can't have two loose canons around here."

"But you won't hurt him?"

"Well, see—" here, Eames scratched the back his head. "That's just the thing, Arthur, that all depends on you, doesn't it?"

"You tell us where the safe is, we'll read the contents, and we all get out of here safely," Ariadne added. He noticed how she still held herself hostage. "Trevor's fine."

Arthur looked from her to Eames. "How about we do it together?"

"Two against one, Arthur," Eames supplied unhelpfully.

"As fun as that sounds, you forget one thing." The party sounds seemed to grow in volume. Arthur never flinched. "Micah's brain is militarized."

**xxxxx**

Ariadne narrowed her eyes at the point man. "Eames?" she asked without diverting her attention. The fact that her gun was still aimed at her was now almost comical, having lost its tension when she got the necessary information.

"It never came into my research," he said with a shrug.

"Mine neither." She looked at Arthur, assessing the truth in this.

Arthur had the audacity to sound condescending. "Well, it was in mine," he insisted with a careless shrug. "I've been doing this for years. That sort of information isn't just open to everyone." He watched them take this information, and Eames had a smug look about him, while Ariadne continued to sear her eyes onto him, studying. "You can lower that now," he said, nodding towards her aimed hand. "I told you what you wanted to know."

And Ariadne looked straight at him as she pulled her arm back to her side, like she was trying to make him out. At the same time, Arthur felt easier at seeing her gun away from her head. He relaxed slightly. In his gambling days, Arthur got better at reading people. He could usually tell if someone was bluffing or not. The basic human traits of avoiding eye contact, an over compensation of confidence, a tremor, these set off Arthur's bull shit signals all the time, but as he stood in front of Ariadne, he felt himself hesitate, distrusting that part of himself that wanted to risk it.

She could be lying, and the past twelve hours have shown that she wasn't holding any sort of conscience when it came to dealing with him. He could've tried it, but the rapidity with which it became a resort startled him. The fact that Ariadne was willing to use his own consideration for her against him offended him.

But he did relax at least, because, goodness, he still had that impulse to protect her. Even if it was from herself.

The feeling of ease didn't last long though as he picked up on the way Ariadne turned to Eames in a semi-private consultation. Her large eyes looked worried, but only for a moment. In the next second, she was back to business.

She was never low in confidence. On the contrary, for someone who was just thrust into this alternate world of dream con and strangers, the first time he met Ariadne, he was struck by her confidence—especially as she walked out on Cobb—but her comfort in the dream world was different. She was tactful, taking in each issue as it came, commanding the situation, rather than harping out suggestions.

She manipulated him quite well too.

Ariadne smirked and headed to the window. She looked at Eames and he nodded. "We're going to do this my way then," she concluded, unhindered, studying outside.

"And what's that?" Arthur demanded.

"Micah Roebuch is the heir to a multi-billion dollar corporation," she said simply, turning to face him as she leaned on the window frame. "We'll just play off a fear. We'll kidnap him." She said it so casually, and when Arthur turned to look at Eames, the damn Englishman was nodding along. He was even making suggestions of his own, which Ariadne was agreeing to and laughing.

They were also doing this incredibly annoying bit that set Arthur on edge.

"—like in the Wiggins job—" Eames started.

"—except without the elephant this time?" she said with a raised eyebrow that set Eames to laughter. A gleam caught her eye, and she jumped slightly as she added, "We could go with a Señor Rubens, and—"

Eames shook his head, his lips pouting, "I thought we agreed—"

"—oh come on! You do a wonderful flamenco!"

"One time—"

"—_two_ times," she stressed, "and once was sober—"

"—and the other wasn't," Eames continued. "Why don't we keep it simple, hm? Ridley and—"

"—oh yes!" Ariadne nodded and looked at the ground, lending her ear.

It all sounded like a jumble of words and codes to Arthur, and his ears began to burn at the attempt to dismantle their conversations—clearly they've worked together for a while, have been drunk near one another, and were on such cozy terms to be able to—

"Be so damn annoying."

The pair looked up at Arthur, who realized that his own thoughts escaped his lips. He shook his head.

"Is there anything you would like to add, Arthur?" Ariadne asked, though her tone wasn't welcoming. It sounded downright condescending actually, and as he thought that word, his eyes caught Eames', who smirked as if he too was on the same line of thinking.

Children.

Arthur scoffed. "You sincerely want to kidnap him?" He ame to stand beside the architect, leaned on his palms on the window frame as he looked at both of them. "That's insane. He'd never buy it."

She either looked like she didn't care or that this had no bearing on whether or not she was going to continue with this hi-jacked up plan of hers. "His brain's militarized and the only people they'll be after is Trevor," she went on. "From what I can tell, this is plenty doable. Almost helpful."

"It will start turning against us," Arthur pointed out. "We can't risk it. You've already upped the stakes too much using Yusuf's serum."

She looked annoyed, like he was this gnat in her eye. "Yeah, well," she said calmly, "you hijacked my date, so let's call it even."

Arthur tried to not look surprised at her bald, yet accurate accusations. "Besides," she added. "You really don't have a choice, right?"

Ariadne watched as he hesitated, his anger held in check as he looked from her then at Eames. "I knew you two were working together," he said instead.

Eames shrugged, picking at his nails as if he had better things to do at this moment. "Yeah, well, we figured you couldn't be kept in the dark for long."

Arthur eyes flickered back towards Ariadne, his patience lessening at their overt tranquility. He knew what they were doing, and he also knew that it was working. "And I gave you so many opportunities to tell me," he said to the girl across from him. "Why didn't you say anything?"

Up until this point, Ariadne began to relish in his unease, that worried expression that came over him when she pointed the gun at her own head, his unheard protests as she and Eames planned, but right now, with that question directed at her so blatantly, she felt a tremendous amount of guilt surface. "You don't have the right to know any more Arthur," she said a little dumbly, because while it may have been the real reason why she justified herself in her lies, she knew it sounded off. She didn't even look at him as she said it, holding her elbow a little self-consciously and dying at the fact that Eames was there with them.

"The hell I do," he bit back, and Ariadne was startled enough to face him. "Just because we aren't together anymore, doesn't mean that I can't care about you."

Ariadne looked guiltily at Eames, who stood there, observing the scene with tight lips but an intrigued expression. She felt her face flame up at Arthur's words, blatant and surprising as they were. And maybe it was Eames' teasing expression and maybe it was Arthur's raw emotion, but she had enough.

"That's just the problem, though, isn't it?" she asked, emotion cutting her attempts at a cold tone. "I don't need you to worry about me, _at all_, Arthur. I've got more of this under control than you do." She looked at Eames, then at Arthur, and she took a deep breath. "So if you would just excuse me," she announced. "I have a plan to get in motion." And she stalked out of the room and back into the large hallway, attempting to bring herself in check, wondering at how easily seeing Arthur in the flesh—relatively speaking of course. More like dream-self.—could affect her this much.

She was hardly three strides out when she heard a familiar pair of feet trail after her, calling her name.

"We don't have much time Arthur," she rebuffed, walking at a fast pace. It helped carry the dress up at least and the slight burn in her lungs made her feel a smidgen better.

He followed closely, matching her speed, but he was close enough that she could feel his legs interfere with the fabric of her skirt. She was hyper aware of that contact, even if it wasn't her own skin. "This is hackneyed and impetuous."

"It's a plan," she threw back blandly. "It's more than you have right now." What a loaded lie.

He still had her, she was realizing. Right at that moment when he freely admitted that he cared about her. She felt that swell in her gut that reminded her of so many things that made her fall in love with him in the first place. Right until he left her like a hypocrite.

She swallowed. He narrowed his eyes in her direction before grabbing her arm to stop her.

It was funny how often they kept touching one another, how easily they assumed these small rights when it took both of them forever to even touch before. Pats on the shoulder, handing pens, even inserting the needle for the PASIV were hardly done without any self-conscious awkwardness.

Maybe it was because everything he did was sexy. Like how he would just watch her build and practice in dreams, hands in pockets, shoulders slack, as she created mazes and paradoxes. He'd have that stupid smile on his face, the one with the dimple to the side and where his eyes creased into slits, and she'd make sure they'd end up in a dead end, just to see what would happen.

_Sometimes, he'd stammer just slightly at how much closer their bodies would be in the maze of hallways or alleys, and he'd even stop talking when their hands would touch briefly as they walked side by side. Ariadne found it adorable at these small off-kilter moments, finding true emotions on the calculated Point Man who always seemed extremely so sure of himself everywhere else. Though, she probably wasn't better than himself._

_She blushed when she first fumbled with the PASIV needle and he sat next to her on her lawn chair, their thighs nearly touching, as he held her wrist so carefully and showed her the proper way to do it. There was something in her mind that couldn't let go of the fact that this was just odd. A self-conscious awareness that she shouldn't be sticking needles into herself._

_She didn't mind shots, though she hated to look, and she donated blood a few times. But sticking a needle into her own skin was something she wasn't used to, and she usually had to take her time to go under._

_"You have really tiny wrists," Arthur noted as he held it in his own hands, sitting next to her._

_Ariadne looked confused. "Um, thanks?" she replied, playing with her rolled up sleeve, waiting for him to give her arm back, but Arthur still held it over his lap, one hand at her pulse, the other on her forearm._

_"You should probably eat more," he informed her, though judging from his damnable expression right after this, she could tell that he had no idea what he was saying too._

_And to help the poor smhuck out, she made a joke about waiting two hours after eating before entering dreams. It made Arthur laugh and it cooled the odd tension down as she pulled her arm back. Arthur shuffled off to his own lawn chair, averting her eyes._

Right now, Arthur held her arm.

"Were you really going to shoot yourself?" Arthur asked right before they got to the ballroom.

Ariadne didn't waver in her expression, only looked at the hand on her arm. It was the arm she usually used for the PASIVE needle. The memory was fresh in her mind, despite of her work burying it deep to be forgotten. "Were you really going to stop me?" she asked, lifting her gaze.

It was a challenge. A cold, calculating challenge that Arthur felt stunted by. An image of her in the wan morning light came to mind. She sat on the edge of their bed. Her hand held over her mouth. Her other hand held a yellow sheet of legal paper with his handwriting on it. Would he have stopped her?

"You know I would have," he said.

He still left that morning.

"That's why it was a good threat," she said a little grimly. "Why did you think I wasn't real?" she asked, taking advantage of the open air. "You kept insisting that I was real."

To this, Arthur shook his head. "I think this is a half-assed plan, Ariadne. This is never going to work. You're insane."

Ariadne turned to him and smiled. Grabbing his arm, she pulled him closer, a few steps into the ballroom, where the lit chandeliers glowed and the music was in full swing. Out of nowhere, she pulled out her gun and cocked it, pointing it to the open air. "You shouldn't be afraid to dream a little bigger, Arthur," she said with a knowing look, before she shot the chandelier off the ceiling.

And he knew her eyes never left his as he watched thousands of crystals and a spark of raw electricity come dropping down onto the main dance floor. It would've been beautiful had it not ignited something much more dangerous.

All of a sudden, projections began running away from the wreckage. Some saw Ariadne but looked too shocked, rather than hostile. Screams of fright and yells echoed into the room as the hundreds of guests began running in confused circles, all headed for exits.

He looked at Eames, who had just caught up with them. "You two have been working together too long," he said, watching the chaos.

"At least someone follows my advice," Eames said with a smile and a shrug.

**xxxxx**

_**A/N:**__ Thank you, Lauraa-x, mbarca, and Audrey for the review love. Enjoy these cyber s'mores I made to show my appreciation. And thank you to those who followed and favorited or are just reading. You can have the extra s'mores._


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

_Arthur stood in front of their closet for a long time. His eyes flickered towards a feather printed scarf, then his blazer. He then looked at the wire hangers where one his button downs clung. Her scarves were a mess, tossed onto the top shelf and dangling down. Arthur, being Arthur, assessed the entire enterprise before creating a diagram in his head as to how to fix this._

_Ariadne came up next to him. "What is it?" she whispered, staring ahead of her as well._

_"You've ruined my system," he replied without looking away._

_"What system?"_

_His face was pokerface impressive when he replied with,"Exactly."_

_And he knew she couldn't help that placating smile on her sweet mouth as she answered with a small laugh, "Arthur, I'm sorry I upset you, but what system?"_

_"All of our clothes are mixed up." The admittance even sounded silly to him, but they've had talks before about the organization of their home. Ariadne allowed him to reorganize their plates in the kitchen for optimal reach, as he so bragged and she pestered him, and in return, he stayed away from her draft table and desk._

_They moved in with one another a few months ago, and yet, Arthur realized, that it was just as much of a new experience for him as it was for her. Due to Ariadne's age and her lifestyle before dream sharing, she hadn't lived with any of her boyfriends before, and because of Arthur's own secrecy and inability to stay in one place for some time, he too hadn't lived with another person in years._

_It all would've come to a terrible idea, if they hadn't loved each other so much. Mornings with her in bed next to him and evenings where he would come home to see her on the couch, aching to go out were all worth the small domestic disputes, which even Arthur reveled in afterwards because of how normal they became._

_"I doubt you'll end up wearing one of my cardigans, or that I'll leave the house in your suit, if you're worried," she said with a slight scoff._

_He looked at her through the corner of his eyes, his body still facing the closet. "Don't be a wise ass. I have a system."_

_Ariadne took a step into the closet, grabbing one of his ties. "Oh?" she asked. "Really?"_

_"Yes."_

_She pulled the tie around her neck, much in the same way someone would with a scarf. "This feels right," she mused, looking around, then posing with her hands on her hips. "I mean, I know it's a tie, but in the disorder that is our closet, I can't be sure . . ."_

_Arthur felt the corners of his mouth begin to pull upward. "Stop it."_

_She grabbed one of his suit jackets and threw it over her shoulders. "Is this my cardigan?" she continued, slipping her jacket through one arm, then the other. "I can't be sure because the closet is such a _mess._" She elongated the last half of her sentence as she did a slight twirl before the mirror hanging near their door._

_Ariadne looked at him reasonably and stepped towards him. "But really, Arthur. Is it bothering you so much?"_

_"Yes."_

_She looked up at him and slipped his tie from around her neck and tossed it around his. She kept both ends in both hands, looking at them as she considered her next move. There was that small flicker of amusement in her eyes as she pulled him down, and Arthur was forced to look straight at her face. He smiled, and she leaned closer until their chests touched, until his hands automatically found their way round her waist._

_"You're going to have to get over it," she whispered, unable to bite back the laugh that came with it._

_And Arthur swept downward, closing the space between them as she intended._

_He pulled away first, though. "You'll at least get your scarves on hangers, right?"_

_And Ariadne giggled, nodding along as she pulled him down again with the same means._

_"But I'm going to keep this tie," she told him. "It's proving exceptionally handy."_

Guests ran around them, towards exits, through hallways, in circles they ran, causing mayhem and yelling. Arthur followed behind Ariadne and Eames, a straight, determined line through everything.

"Why aren't they after us?" Arthur asked, looking at the projections. No one made eye contact. No one gave him a sneer. "We should be torn apart right now," he said, fighting through shoulders and couples, struggling almost a foot behind Ariadne and Eames. He held a readying hand over his gun, prepared for any unwarranted attack, but even this small action seemed unnecessary, given the confusing circumstances.

Ariadne looked around and shrugged a very unladylike shrug in her elegant dress. "They are after us right now," she said. "But thanks to Yusuf's serum, the compound has added a delayed reaction to some of Micah's projections. We have some time before his mind realizes that it's not scared shitless but has a job to do."

"And attracting attention is a good idea because—" Arthur wondered, his eyes meeting each passing projection with suspicion.

"If they're already after us, might as well, get the ball rolling," Ariadne reasoned, which sounded flimsy to Arthur.

"What kind of serum is this?" he demanded.

"Yusuf made it for us," she said, charging briskly through the disorderly crowd. Even if Micah's projections were running around confused, they were clearly making room for Ariadne. "After a pretty nasty job in Greece, I made a request, but we hardly use it," she said off-handedly.

For some reason, the mention of Greece unnerved him. Perhaps it was because of the last time he was in Greece, botching up a job with Cobol. No. It was the promise of another job, of a history of her doing this that irked him. Her and Eames, working in Greece. Her and Eames turning to Yusuf for help. Yusuf complying and never once thinking to tell Arthur. "Because of the catch?" he asked, his long legs keeping up with both of them.

She looked back at him, her wide-brown eyes curious. "What do you mean?" she asked, though he knew that she was well aware of his question.

He knew that she knew that it was obvious. "There's always a catch."

Ariadne paused slightly but didn't say anything. She looked at Eames for guidance. "It also means that time can get slightly distorted as Micah's brain plays catch up," Eames chipped in, right beside her, projections making room for him. "How long did you reserve for keeping him under?"

"Eight hours above, four days dream time," Arthur said grimly.

"Yeah, well, you'll see what happens," Eames explained cheerfully, annoyingly.

"Thank you, Mr. Eames. That explained absolutely nothing." This was really why he hardly ever worked with the Forger.

Eames sent a wink his way, above Ariadne's head, before stooping down to address her. "So what's the plan, darling?" Eames asked conversationally past a group of frantic gentlemen in tuxedos, and Arthur bristled at this as well, at the familiarity between them, at the mention of "darling," though, Arthur's brain said, Eames tended to call everyone that.

He even called Arthur that because he knew how it bothered him, but apparently Eames was onto something knew to tease him with. _Darling_. He called Ariadne darling, as if it was common.

Worse, Ariadne didn't tell Eames to stop it or scoff at such endearments. She continued to lead them through the crowded ballroom. "Find Micah. Get to the safe," Eames' darling said.

"What about stick-in-the-mud?" the Forger asked with a rickety sort of nod towards Arthur.

"What about me?" Arthur demanded, testily, dodging a lady with ropes of pearls swaying as she charged past. Eames shot him a dazzling smirk, and Arthur knew it was because he was acknowledging the unwanted nickname.

Ariadne hardly spared him a glance as she continued down the corridor. "We need him. They'll be after Trevor anyways since he's the dreamer. I'll need you to take him."

She missed Eames' gaze shift from her then Arthur before he asked her if that was exactly what she wanted. On one end, Arthur felt extremely irritated. At the other, he was somewhat surprised at Ariadne leading.

She stopped, feeling his scrutiny, and she shot a careless glance at Arthur. "I can handle him."

"I can also hear everything you guys are saying," Arthur pointed out, grumpily.

Ariadne smiled. "He'll need to show us where the safe is."

"This is my job," he insisted, though all the good it did as they spoke over him.

"We're hijacking your job," Ariadne placated, turning to him kindly.

"You're ruining my job!" he practically had to yell over the yelps and screams around him.

She shrugged. It was maddening. "We're just winging it," she said simply.

The word had no relevance to Arthur, and her lack of organization was really annoying him now. She stood there, shrugging, and looking at Eames as if Arthur was the spare player in all of this. "Really?" he asked, "Then what's next? A freight train?"

She and Eames exchanged looks, which only tipped him further into the deep end. He kept calm under their condescension. "We need to get out of here, cleared of all these people. Everyone hasn't turned on us yet, but there's no telling when this crowd will get vicious."

"So go," Arthur suggested with a biting tone, practically petulant.

"We need Micah first." She looked Eames. "Where's Trevor?"

"Upstairs."

She shot a look above her at the ceiling then faced the Englishman. "He's the dreamer," she said. "Eames, I'm going to need you to—"

"I'm already on it." He started to dart for the closest stairs. Arthur noticed this too, how easily they understood one another, how quickly Eames was to pick up her line of thinking. How Ariadne was the one giving directions. It was an odd organization, but, for some reason, Arthur couldn't see Ariadne not being the one to take charge. Especially if it was Eames.

"I'll see you," Eames said, reaching for Ariadne's hand and giving it an overtly-dramatic kiss for Arthur's benefit. Ariadne looked used to these small actions as she rolled her eyes, and Arthur looked prepared to murder.

But as she lowered her hand—Arthur's gaze focused on where the damn Forger had just placed his lips—Arthur noticed something. Amidst the chaos and rush, he couldn't help it. It glinted, catching his eye momentarily as she brought her hand back to her side. He looked down at her neck as if realizing something then looked down smiling to himself. That moment with Eames forgotten.

Ariadne's voice found him. "What?" she asked.

He made a point for his eyes to linger on the silver ring hanging on her silver chain.

"You have it on you," he informed her, slightly smug, though his eyes looked surprised.

Ariadne reached up and felt the silver band dangling around her neck and held it up, her eyes neither soft nor hard as she studied it. The length of time she looked at it was almost a clue to Arthur. He didn't place it on her. She did.

He wanted to say something. He wanted to tell her that he was happy that she thought about it. He wanted to apologize and explain himself.

He just didn't know how.

Suddenly, she yanked it off of her, breaking the clasp of the chain with a harsh tug. "Perfect." She held it out to him, until he took it, dumbly. She then handed her gun to him.

"You're going to kidnap me."

**xxxxx**

_Ariadne laid down on her back, taking up the rest of the bench as Arthur read at the end where her feet were._

_She held up the ring, wondering at it, when she heard him laugh. "Regrets?"_

_She pulled herself up with her elbows to look at him. "We've never talked about plans."_

_Arthur didn't seem as bothered by this as she was, but he closed his book and turned to face her. "I never thought that we were in a hurry."_

_"Yeah, but after people get engaged, they at least talk about it."_

_"Okay. What do you want to talk about?"_

_Ariadne frowned in thought. "I don't know. Dates? Color schemes? Whether we should have a wedding or not? Don't you like planning?"_

_Arthur read the slight anxiety in her tone and grabbed her hand. "Are you sure that you're all right?"_

_She nodded. "Thoughts on the color scheme?" she joked, but Arthur saw the underlying stress in her shoulders, her tone._

_"We can set a date, Ariadne," he said soothingly. "We can set a date and a place and tell everyone to come, it doesn't have to worry us." As Arthur spoke, he drew his thumb across her knuckles lightly, almost in an effort too rub everything away completely._

_But as she nodded along and agreed and told him that they should probably look at dates, he heard the uncertainty in her voice and still saw the anxiety in her expression, so he held her hand as she spoke, until she slipped out of his grasp and got up entirely._

**xxxxx**

Ariadne rushed into the kitchen and found Micah Roebuch was helping a few partygoers exit the back of the house when Ariadne came up to him.

"Micah!" she called out, grabbing his arm, looking behind her frantically, her loose hair whipping behind her.

He looked up, surprised, but relieved. "Charlie! Christ—" he turned towards her and took her into his arms to hold her close. "We have to get out of here." He started to follow the last lady through, pulling Ariadne's hand out. Ariadne went willingly, before she stopped suddenly.

"Wait." She touched her bare neck as if just realizing. "Micah. My ring. My grandmother's ring." She let her fingers slip through his to go find it. "I need to go get it!"

Micah's eyes widened as he looked at her bare neck. "Charlie—No. Are you crazy?"

There was a loud crash in the ballroom, and everyone's head looked in that direction. Ariadne acted quickly. "I know, but I can't leave it here. It's all I have left. I'll be back." And she turned on her heel and ran into the hallway, her skirt slowing her slightly down.

"Charlie!" he called just close enough so that she could gage how quickly he followed her. She dodged confused projections that ran against her, and she knew she didn't have long before they started to turn on her.

She made her way into the ballroom, only to be scooped about the waist, quick enough for her breath to catch as she heard Arthur's voice warn her how stupid this was. She was lucky if he didn't send her to limbo for protection.

Another part of her mind reminded her how familiar it was to be swept away like this, especially by the man right behind her, but she pushed these thoughts down as she felt the cold barrel of the gun against her temple. She shut her eyes and took in a deep breath.

**xxxxx**

Arthur watched as Micah slid into the room, still trying to get his bearings. The ballroom, where the scene started, was desolate, save for the three of them and the shattered chandelier nearby. Arthur gripped Ariadne tighter against him and held the gun closer to her exposed forehead.

"Mr. Roebuch," he greeted, calmly.

Micah turned to him, confused, then frightened. "Look, whatever it is that you want, my father can get it for you. I'm sure we can work something out."

Arthur held the gun towards Micah, who took a few determined steps towards him, so Arthur pointed it back to Ariadne. Micah stopped immediately.

Funny how often Ariadne was used as leverage device in the past few minutes.

"What do you want?" Micah asked flatly.

"That's a very interesting question actually. Wouldn't you say?"

Ariadne glared at him, hard, and Arthur knew that it wasn't just from play-acting.

"Look, she has nothing to do with this. Just let her go."

Arthur angled the gun as he spoke, allowing Ariadne room to squirm within his grip around her waist for effect. A small part of him remembered this. Remembered holding her so closely. Dream her even smelled the same and felt the same, but he swallowed those memories down. "No, see, I can't do that now Mr. Roebuch. It just would be bad manners to leave her out now, when she's already here. But the point is, I need you and she's proving to be extremely helpful."

Micah's eyes wavered from him to Ariadne, softening slightly as she struggled. "Why me?"

"We need the combination to your father's safe."

Micah was quick with his reply. "I don't know it."

"Well, I think you're lying."

"And I think you don't have a leg to stand on. You're hiding behind a girl!" His statement rung through the empty ballroom, coming back at them.

Arthur riled at this and his chest swelled as he started to reply back—

"Hey!" Both men stopped to see Ariadne ruffled at this accusation. Arthur's face curved into a subtle smirk; his arm tightened around her waist as she looked over her shoulder at him, then at Micah. "That's hardly fair to the _girl_ who is standing right here," she told them, her eyes flashing.

Micah apologized and Arthur laughed, despite himself.

"Fair enough," Arthur continued. "We're just going to have to take this outside. Mr. Roebuch, if you could lead the way?" He gestured lightly with his firearm.

Micah stood there, a question on his face. "What makes you think, I'll go with you?" he countered.

Arthur shrugged, tightening his hold on Ariadne quickly, so her breath hitched as he did so. "It's really up to you. I suppose I can try to get it without you," he considered aloud, "but you see, I think I'm already attached to _Charlie_ right here. I might just bring her along—"

Micah scoffed, perhaps not believing the bluff. "What good would that do you?"

Arthur considered that matter before relenting, "Fair point. I might as well shoot her now that she's served her purpose—" and he cocked the gun, the promising click resounded in the ballroom. Ariadne tensed. Her eyes widened in genuine surprise.

It was enough to push Micah in the right direction. Arthur remembered what it did to him before when Ariadne held the gun to her own temple. "Wait!" Micah took a step forward, his hands out to stop him. "I'll go with you. But you have to let her go."

Arthur stopped. He waved his gun in Micah's direction. "Lead us out."

With some quick thinking on his part, Arthur ordered Micah into the back of the catering van waiting beyond the kitchen, then made Ariadne place a black fabric bag over his face. He pretended to do the same to her, before knocking Micah out with a few drops from a vial in his pocket. Ariadne sat against the wall of the van, watching him, thoughtfully. Her hands crossed over one another across her chest, each hand resting on her bare shoulders like armor.

Arthur looked at her. "What?"

She didn't react to his snappish tone, just sat up. "You're taking up my plan for not being on board with it," she said with a quirk of one of her eyebrows.

"Because you've made a hell of the sub-security," he said. He slid the vial into his back pocket and jumped out of the van.

Stiffly, she picked her skirt up and started to get up after him. "I really wish I wasn't wearing this," she bemoaned, picking up the heavy fabric and tossing it behind her.

Arthur gave her a once over before smiling, standing before the bumper. "Funny, I'd have the same wish too."

Ariadne glared, balancing herself with a hand against the van's wall. "Bite me."

"Is that what you're into now?" Arthur asked, holding the doors of the van a little closed. She looked up at him to meet his light eyes, and her eyes widened.

"Arthur, don't you dare!"

"You told me to kidnap you," he said, closing the metal doors and locking it from the outside with a metal bracket. Leaning on his two palms he addressed her, "I'm just following orders, ma'am."

Ariadne was furious. She pounded on the metal and the vibration made Arthur take a step back. "Arthur, I swear if you don't open these doors, I am going to—"

"What?" Arthur taunted, walking to the driver's seat. "I have to go drive now."

The last he heard from Ariadne, she was letting out an exhaustive yell.

**xxxxx**

**_A/N: _**_Many thanks to Audrey (since you are anonymous, I have to reply here: yes, that is a very Arthur comment! haha) and Lauraa-x for the reviews for last chapter! I've been baking a lot of pies recently (seriously, I can't stop), so please enjoy these cyber ones._


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

_During the Fischer case, she remembered standing outside the warehouse by herself._

_"What are you doing?" she heard a voice ask, coming out to join her from the warehouse. The Parisian spring night was cool and slightly breezy as she stood out on the side street their warehouse was located. She shivered slightly as she turned to look at Arthur approaching. He nodded in greeting._

_"It's just surreal, we're going to change a man's life completely if this idea sticks. He'd be a new person because of us." She folded her arms over her chest._

_Arthur looked amused. "Morals?"_

_She licked her lips, looking chagrinned. "I guess it's my weakness."_

_"No. No," he reassured her, smiling. "It's admirable. It's just not good for business."_

_She laughed at the joke._

_"No, but it truly is admirable. I used to think it once," he said, almost wistfully._

Ariadne sat on top of a cooler propped up against the front of the van. She held her knees slightly bent with her arms draped over as she sat fuming but exhausted. She should've known he would do something like this. She couldn't rely on him giving her an easy break, when she was already using his feelings for her against him. Arthur was a professional after all.

She kicked herself for letting it happen though.

"How far is it?" she asked again just for whining's sake as she looked through the small window afforded to the driver. Angled just so, she could make out the back of Arthur's head and arm.

"For being abducted, you're awfully loud," he said. "I wish I drugged you too come to think of it."

"Womp, womp," Ariadne replied in cartoon-fashion, rolling her eyes even if he couldn't see. "I wish you did a lot of things before," she said bitingly, and when he didn't reply back, she knew she overstepped the moment. Hell, she knew she was being unfair in her statement. Half of her wanted to bite everything back, but she just let the comment sit there between them.

It grew when Arthur didn't respond back readily and when she saw Arthur's arm stiffen in its position at one on the steering wheel.

She sighed and pulled her loose hair into a hair tie. Strands came out, but she felt slightly better than dragging around herself in an evening dress. As her arms were raised to tie the knot at the nape of her neck, she turned to the small window. She exhaled. "When you first saw me you told me that it had to be me, that I was real," she pointed out, settling her arms down.

He turned slightly to her voice, considering her, before facing the road again. "It was nothing." Ariadne couldn't help but gape, then turned towards the shelves of plastic containers and utensil in front of her. Against the shelf, Micah slumped.

Arthur used to do this before he left her. They were two people who used to be so candid with one another. Her role as novice and his as instructor helped in that sense, easing them into easy honesty without that awful filter. But as the years passed, after she said yes, she could feel him start to edit around her.

She understood why. Her frank desire to go back into the game, to dream again forced him into worry, forced him to take annoying care with what he said and admitted around her. She hated it. She felt taken care of and coddled, and slowly, annoyance wasn't as easy to toss under the rug. She could know him as well as she wanted. She could excuse his little careful sidesteps in conversation as being for her benefit, telling herself that he did it because he loved her, but without it being out there, with her flicks of annoyance hidden in the dark, it grew on its own. It mutated into something ugly that she couldn't handle by herself.

And when she would breech it in her own way, asking Arthur about a phone call he had or saying that she spoke to some contacts, he would shut her off. It being for her own good, despite the best intentions, made it all the worst, cementing this inconceivable thought that maybe, Arthur, wasn't the same person she fell in love with anymore. Maybe this Arthur changed just like she did.

Maybe she woke up to an empty bed one day because he realized it too.

Thing was. She thought that she was over him. When he came to mind, all she felt was numb, almost as if she hit a wall of thought. She couldn't summon the good or the bad. She couldn't summon up anything, and if she was honest, she didn't work too hard to summon anything up to really dwell on. Was it cowardly? Perhaps. But it got her through what she needed to do.

She needed to work. She needed to succeed. She wanted to prove to herself that she was beyond the help or hurt of someone like Arthur.

But when he said that he still cared for her, all Ariadne felt almost taken aback and her immediate response was to suspect it.

He wouldn't have left if that were the case.

"No," she said a little testily, watching Arthur watch the road. "It wasn't nothing. It was something, Arthur," she informed him, "so spill."

Arthur doesn't divert from looking at the road ahead. His hands tensed on the steering wheel as they adjust over ten and two. She could see the calculated breath he took in how his shoulders raised then drooped. She knew that he took it through his nose and out his mouth. He'd done it thousands of times in front of her. He needed to calm himself. He needed to find the safest way to handle the situation. Good. "You pop up sometimes," he admitted so quietly and so seriously. She read the reluctance from his shoulders.

Ariadne almost stopped breathing at this free admittance. She almost expected him to lie about it. Her next question came out as a tested whisper, "What do you mean?" Though a part of her already understood.

Arthur remained immobile as he drove forward. "Just sometimes," he clarified, as if he were in a daze. She knew that he was attempting to lighten his tone, to pass off this topic easily as if he had it all under control. "I'll get a reminder, from seeing you do domestic things I used to see a thousand times, like at your draft table or cutting vegetables or sitting on a bench waiting for me. That last one happens often, but just sometimes, you'll creep into a job, throw me off." He paused, probably recollecting a few instances, and Ariadne's curiosity ate at the bit wondering. She sat up, curling her fingers around the small window opening just to catch every word. "I told myself I shouldn't let that happen to you. That those are poor versions from the real thing." He stopped himself. "I'm sorry. That's probably not what you should hear right now." His chin flickered to her direction, almost facing her entirely, before he looked back at the road, and Ariadne couldn't hide the astounded, hurt expression in her face. She had to school her features back into a blank slate, her muscles straining in what became second nature to her.

She remembered Mal. She remembered that twisted version of a supposedly lovely woman Cobb turned his wife into. She hated Mal. She feared Mal. She didn't like the idea of being something so calculating or so cold to Arthur.

She remembered holding that gun to his forehead earlier. Clearly Ariadne was that way to Arthur now.

She didn't know what to say. She looked forward to end that small breach of sincerity between them. Her heart closed itself to this a long time ago. "How long to the city?" she asked, her voice-gaining steadiness as she spoke.

Arthur was back to business as well. "Only a few miles."

Ariadne didn't say anything as the city came before them. Sitting against the wall separating her from the front now, she could see clearly out of the windshield. She admired the silhouette of the skyscrapers and the long bridge as they turned onto the exit to enter. The lines were clean and smooth. The buildings were extremely modern and had a high gloss to it. She remembered designing Arthur's level in the dream that way when they first met, how he gave her ideas to base his level off of, and how she spent hours immersed in genuine conversation over design likes and dislikes. Over coffee or standing over a draft table, shoulders or elbows nearly touching. It was an unspoken sensation that ran from him to her, one she always wondered at, but never acted upon.

It was a friendship, she figured. It was the comfort of that feeling of falling in step with someone, whom you just met. She never understood it. But she was entirely game.

Ariadne looked at Arthur as he merged lanes. She sat back against her haunches. She faced the small window, so she knew she could say it clearly, and she held her hands in her laps, studying them, chastened. "I waited for you."

She didn't know why she said it, maybe because he so freely told her about her shade counterpart that invaded his own dreams or maybe it was that reminder of falling in love with him in the first place. Maybe it was feeling the need for a trade of some sort, like his secret for hers. She just felt it again, that same low buzz in her gut she used to feel near him, that reminder that he was real. He was really there for her.

It was mean that she reacted to this stupid sentimentality. Something she was good at hiding now. She wasn't sure if she wanted to show that she cared longer than he did. She wasn't sure when it turned into a competition in the first place.

Arthur scoffed and he was back to being rigid again. "It seemed like it."

Ariadne riled at this, having her efforts tossed back at her. "No," she said a little testily, "past the anger and the resentment, I wanted to wait for you. I moved back to Paris after—" she stopped herself. "I was back in Paris for a while. I thought I could make it work, but I knew that it just wasn't going to. I knew that I had to move on and stop kidding myself."

Arthur didn't hesitate when he asked, "When did you move back?"

Leave it to Arthur to ask the right question. "It doesn't matter," she said carelessly that made the subject drop.

Arthur didn't want to take that, but he knew the stubborn resolve in the lilt of her tone. He allowed the silence to settle before trying a different tactic. "He called you Charlie," he said instead, his eyes on the road. He figured she wouldn't answer but would try anyway.

He heard her clear her throat and shuffle around. "I had Mr. Charles in my head when he asked my name at the bar," she admitted, confirming Arthur's suspicions.

Arthur smirked. "Were you also thinking about our first kiss?"

"No."

That was the wrong pace. The wrong answer. He knew she was lying.

"We've only ran Mr. Charles that time with you. They're undoubtedly connected," he said with authority, amusement lurking in his voice.

"It just came to mind," she insisted.

"Memories are attached, Ariadne. That's why it gets easy to manipulate people's minds. We seek patterns amidst the chaos."

"Is that what you do, Arthur?" her voice called out to him. "See the world purely as patterns?"

"It's my job to, yes."

"Then you've never lived," she said. He heard a shuffle as she sat back.

"Bombastic, worldly wisdom from an architect. Design and planning is just as much part of it. Isn't pure creation your spiel?" he asked with dismissive disdain.

"I don't have a spiel," she scoffed.

"You had a belief," he insisted. "You wanted pure creation. You wanted to create some containment, some order, that's how you got sucked into this in the first place."

He heard her thin lipped tone as she spoke next. "I contain the chaos," she laughed, and it dwindled down into a scoff. "That sounds about right." And her dark laughter filled the empty back again. It made Arthur realize how different she was now. That warmth about her. That liveliness was fueled in an entirely new way that Arthur couldn't understand.

Did he do this? Was he like this? Because every decision, every tactile response she rolled with seemed to be the way Arthur would think and assess. He felt slightly jealous of that time away from him: mostly because he started to feel the weight of how much he missed and slightly because he couldn't take any responsibility or pride in how Ariadne powerful and adept she was.

That wasn't right. He couldn't take credit for how wonderful she was at creating and imagining. He couldn't take credit for how well she adapted to their state of living as thieves or the professionalism of the job. But he was still there for all of it. He helped her where he could and watched close by with pride and enchantment as she outshone them all at the end.

He missed seeing her rise to success, if he was honest, but he also missed out on when she became this new person. He wondered at how she did it, or even if the same Ariadne he had committed to memory was still there.

"What are you doing?" he demanded, pushing himself to solve this mystery.

Ariadne was quiet for a long time before she cleared her throat. "What do you mean?" she asked.

"You're doing an extracting job. You were trained as an architect."

"Are you amazed that I'm a multi-tasking pony?" her voice joked.

"I'm amazed that you made the jump. You loved creating."

"And I still do."

"Then why—"

"I've been working with Eames," she interrupted. "He takes on a lot of the forging, thieving, schmoozing, so I had to fill in the extra bits. It works."

"You bring out the worst in each other," he decided.

"We don't," her voice piped up.

"You support his silliness, and he supports your stubbornness."

"And you truly think you're right all the time," she said with amazement.

And again, Arthur saw that scene of her reading the letter with her silhouette against the rising orange sun. It took him two seconds to make his decision he remembered. It took him months to regret it.

"Were you so desperate to go back, you went to him?" he asked, quietly, unsure if even having such a candid conversation was right with this facet of Ariadne. The way she insisted he didn't need to care about her told him that she wouldn't be up for an emotional air clearing, but Arthur also didn't care. The fact that he wasn't facing her helped slightly, though he knew that if she had let him or if Trevor hadn't called, he would've forced this conversation with her in her hotel room.

They were quiet for a while, until Ariadne perked up. "We should probably find a place to lay low until he wakes up. Do you have any ideas?" she asked.

Arthur turned back to the road. "Yeah. Yeah, I think I know a place," he said, thinking as the van entered the city.

**xxxxx**

_Two Years Ago . . ._

_Arthur's heart pounded as he realized that he knew the face of the woman standing before him, her wide smile, her clear face, her glowing skin. He had to blink a few times to remember himself, he had to tell himself to breath._

_"Why did you leave me, Arthur?" the shade asked simply. She stood a few feet in front of him and he drank her in with longing. How long had he been gone? A month? Two months? He had left in the middle of the night with hardly an explanation._

_It was for the best, his mind said. It was for her own good._

_But a small niggle in the back of his thoughts reminded him how callous and how unfair he was to her to do it that way. A small bit of reticence grew when he fed it with consideration._

_The months of planning for this last job. Arthur forgot that Trevor was counting on him, that this was a dream, as he looked at this forlorn version of Ariadne standing in front of him in their apartment._

_"I'm coming back for you," he said, reaching out to her, aching to touch her. She pulled away, her eyes quick and on to him._

_"You said so yourself," she said a little hatefully, so unlike the Ariadne he remembered back in Paris. "You said that these things lead to more jobs. You didn't even tell me you left."_

_"I left you a letter," he said, but even that sounded limp to his ears._

_An image of her in the wan morning light came to mind. She sat on the edge of their bed. Her hand held over her mouth. Her other hand held a yellow sheet of legal paper._

_"Is that all I get?" she asked, tearfully, and Arthur reached out to her, seeing the gloss over her eyes as she spoke. "Is that seriously all I'm worth to you?"_

_He took a step towards her again, his instinct propelling him towards her, when her expression changed. Her face darkened._

_His heart stopped. This wasn't her. _

_She shot him._

That botched up job two years ago with Cobol lead to this path with Trevor. They left in a hurry, striking up with a rival company, who promised safety and a way to clear it with Cobol, until one day, Cobol just stopped chasing them. And instead, Arthur had to cope with yet another botched up job for the very company they turned to for clemency.

Life was funny that way.

They took on smaller jobs to make up for their losses, hoping to pay Matauchek back and right the terrible job. Arthur got better at hiding his shade. Trevor began to trust him again, though they were no way in the clear with Matauchek.

Until this Roebuch job. Matauchek gave it to them with the faith from the small jobs. All would be forgiven, they said, if Arthur and Trevor got the detailed plans for expansion. A simple enough extraction, but only made difficult because of the rare amount of high profile people who actually knew of the plans.

Of course, with the smallest tiered person—the accountant who was working out the logistics of it—Arthur's shade botched up that extraction, and Trevor told Arthur that this was their last chance at even attempting to clear both their names or he would have to go on without the Point Man, whom he stayed with out of loyalty.

Arthur parked the car and got out of the driver's seat and made his way to the back of the van, preparing himself for a very angry architect. An apology was obvious, and after their conversation, he wondered at what he would find when they faced each other properly. She was going to be upset. He knew. She was going to do something to make him regret doing it. He took a breath and unhinged the latch. What he wasn't prepared for was the navy blue dart that made a lunge as far out of the van as possible.

"Oh no you don't," Arthur said as Ariadne made an attempt at escape. She ran past and picked up her skirt. Easily, he grabbed her round the waist. It helped that he was taller and that she was wearing a rather heavy dress.

"This is my plan!" she insisted, elbows hitting him with trained precision, and Arthur, not expecting it, keeled over, though he had the mind to keep his strong arms wrapped around her.

"Yeah well—euf—" She stomped on his toe. "This is my job," he insisted, slightly breathless as Ariadne pulled her body weight forward, and Arthur prepared himself for her to pull him up. Instead, she changed tactics and brought her head against his. He jerked back at the force.

He exhaled, strongly, cursing as he tried to keep track of his senses. "Where did you learn to fight?" he asked, breathless.

Ariadne didn't answer as she turned to face him, her hands on his shoulders, and Arthur released her, knowing what tactic she was going to resort to. He realized that she was panting too. Her face was red. Her hair was a mess, and she looked livid.

They stood a few feet apart, breathing, staring at one another.

"Self-defense," she replied late. And before Arthur could say another word, she came up to him, her arms on his shoulders and out of self-preservation, he turned his hips slightly. Ariadne just smirked as she brought one leg to curl behind him and press into the back of his knee, a weak spot given the angle. He was down on the ground, but before she could deliver a well-placed kick to his stomach, he grabbed her leg and pulled her down, rolling on top of her.

Her eyes widened when she realized their position. Their faces were nose to nose. Her wrists were held down by his hands. He covered her. "Get off," she gritted out.

Arthur looked amused. "Not until you learn some manners ma'am."

Her lips melded into a saccharine smile. "_Please_ get off of me and _please_ go take a walk off a very short cliff."

Arthur tutted, but remained unmoved. He couldn't help but laugh. "This feels familiar, doesn't this feel familiar to you?"

"Don't be an ass."

"Don't try to kick my ass," Arthur parried, holding her down.

Arthur adjusted his grip on her wrist and his legs on hers. Her eyes grew slightly and her gaze gestured downward.

Arthur realized what she meant and he swallowed his bashfulness. "Don't get any ideas, it's my cell phone."

She rolled her eyes. "Right…"

"Really, Ariadne, I'm surprised at you."

Ariadne blushed and grunted as she shook her head and tried to get her legs free, but there was no use. Not with her legs covered in layers and layers of fabric. "Get off right now, Arthur, and preserve the last shreds of that gentlemanly opinion I have of you," she ordered.

"You were going to kick me in the gentleman area," he pointed out. "So I can't really see how this is entirely fair . . ."

"I wasn't going to do it _hard_," she contended, stopping her squirming.

"Well, there's no way of knowing that, now is there?" he said with a smile. Ariadne rolled her eyes. "But if I get off of you, do you promise not to hurt me?" She stopped struggling then, and he watched as she took deep inhalations through her nose. Ariadne looked as if she very much wanted to, but she nodded, begrudgingly.

"Excellent." She felt him sit up, straddling her. "But first—"

Which was when she felt it, then heard it. The cold clasp of metal against one wrist, and she watched in anger as he pulled the other until she was hand cuffed properly.

"Really?" she asked, holding up her hands as he stood. He pulled her up carefully. "Is this necessary?"

Arthur looked amused. "You just tried to kick my ass, Ariadne," he pointed out. "It's extremely necessary."

**xxxxx**

**A/N: **Thank you Lauraa-x, Lazarus76, and nowarning23 for their reviews! They always brighten up my day :).


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

He was the first one to admit that he loved her. Hell, he was the first one to realize it, he was sure, but he also knew that someone like Ariadne, fresh out of school, young, idealistic, enjoyed the lightheartedness of everything, the magical work they did, rather than focusing on time.

But Arthur was all about it. Years spent in dreams, years spent running, and he felt everything catching up to him compared to her. He wasn't sure what it was at first—despite his lean towards specificity, he couldn't place his finger on this preference for her company—no. No, actually, he knew he wanted her. He had to be honest. He liked her at first, admired her at first, loved her slowly, and Arthur wasn't stupid to doubt that she was interested in him too.

His confidence was enough to trick her onto a date, but even he was slightly baffled at where this could possibly go. Ariadne had ties to the real world. She had a degree she had to finish. She had friends and an actual street address. Arthur didn't exist to society. He lived in people's dreams and worked in the shadows of reality. The thought of trying something normal was a dream in itself.

But a few encouraging looks from her, and he knew he could attempt it. He could take her on dates. He could be that guy who lived in one city and had one billing address. Hell, he could do bills and make breakfast. He could own flatware and linens.

A few dates with her and his entire agenda for after the job became staying in Paris. He didn't think of anything else.

Only once, did he doubt himself. Only once, did he question whether he was making leaps and bounds to be with one person, but he pushed this all down because Ariadne didn't seem to mind their pace as well. She delighted in their talks. She dreamed along with him.

And smidge by smidge, Arthur allowed himself to squash down the denial. To love her even more.

When he first got the call from Trevor, he didn't know what to do. Ariadne and he just had an argument over Yusuf reaching out to her for a few design plans, a simple job but in need of some complex mazes, and Arthur was adamant about not listening to her proposal.

_"One job leads to another," he insisted as she stood in the kitchen area, her hands on her hips, her eyes a spitfire. "Or one job goes unexpectedly, and then what?" _

_"How can you be so sure?" she demanded._

_"You went under for the inception job! Something can always happen that makes you go under or leads to another job. You're not doing it!"_

_It left underlying cracks in an otherwise beautiful surface: waking up next to her, seeing her, dinners, dates, phone calls, buying cleaning products, surprising her with flowers. It was the domestic settlement that Arthur craved to go back to. It was the adventure he wanted, and yet, it made him feel almost emasculated when she'd insist on more than that._

_When she'd insist on working again._

_When she said that this wasn't enough for her._

_When she said that he wasn't enough for her._

_He'd see her shut off after these conversations. She'd quietly pack her messenger then her portfolio. She'd sling them over her shoulders with a throwaway line of being at the "atelier," which she shared with some other artists, and Arthur wouldn't see her until the late hours of the evening. He would wait for her, but even then, she wouldn't say anything as she tossed her things down, tight lipped, shucking her shirt and jeans in favor of nightclothes._

_And when she was tucked safely into bed, he'd join her, feeling her active eyes and her alive mind, he'd reach through the darkness, winding his arms around her waist, as she apologized, hollowly. Then the ice melted and she'd respond to his touches and returned his kiss whole-heartedly and break and tell him that she didn't mean it. And they'd act like everything was fine, until the band-aid fell off again. _

_"Why don't you finally clue me in, Ariadne. Instead of wasting everyone's precious time trying to play catch up to you, why don't you just tell us all what the plan is for once?" Arthur demanded._

_Ariadne stared him down in that same way she used to._

_"Why don't you get off your high horse?" she declared back, edging towards him with a hard scowl on her face._

_Arthur stepped forward too, affronted. "And what is that supposed to mean?" he asked, his eyes burning into her own._

_And her brown eyes never wavered as she looked at him right back. Her cheeks were slightly red. Her eyes blazed. She stood as tall as she could, hands gripped to her sides as if she was holding herself back from physically strangling him. "It means, you're not always in the right Arthur!" she practically yelled and they both jumped at this sudden noise._

**xxxxx**

It was easier to bring Micah and a hand cuffed Ariadne to the abandoned building than Arthur would have expected. After their tussle, Ariadne seemed resigned to following him, even helping to support Micah as he handcuffed the knocked out heir to an unsavory looking sink.

The building Arthur brought them to appeared to be an abandoned warehouse with several floors. They chose one of the upper floors to gain a better view of the near-empty streets, which they kept watch through large, opaque windows, clearly hard worn by weather. The entire floor was pretty much bare with the exception of a few rooms and mismatched tables and chairs.

"This is very thorough for what should've been a quick job," Ariadne pointed out as Arthur led her through.

"This is from the early stages of development," Arthur explained. "Trevor wanted us to have a home base before I came up with the idea of the party."

Ariadne snorted. "You would come up with a party."

Arthur chose not to acknowledge that.

They stood before Micah's body, considering his placement with his arm in the air, his wrist handcuffed to the exposed pipe under the ceramic sink. The set-up was not unlike the warehouse used in the Fischer job, and Ariadne made a passing comment about it, which Arthur shrugged off, saying she only thought that because they were seeing one another again.

"Do you think it would be odd if I had different clothes on when he woke up?" she asked as they looked down at the prone Micah Roebuch on the ground.

Arthur lifted his eyebrows at her question and gave her a cursory once-over. "I think he would notice."

Ariadne gestured with her handcuffed hands at her heavy skirt. "I figured, but this is getting really exasperating to run around in."

"Next time, try not wearing a floor-length gown when planning to be kidnapped," he suggested.

She lifted a sarcastic eyebrow in his direction. "Next time, don't plan an extraction during some elaborate ball."

"It was an evening party," he insisted, "Rich people have evening parties."

"They also have business meetings, casual Fridays, runs in the park, any number of activities where people wear normal clothes." She gave him a judgmental once over.

Arthur had a half-hearted smile on his tight lips. "We can't seriously be arguing about this."

She continued, unhearing. "Arthur, every day isn't a show. You don't always need to wear a tie as if your head's attached to it."

"Says the girl who always wears a scarf?" he posed with a haughty lift of his eyebrow.

"Says the boy who favors wearing three-piece suits?" she retorted.

Arthur looked thoughtful for a moment. "I think I remember someone enjoying my tailoring. I'm pretty sure it had aphrodisiac impulses upon her." The smile he gave her was overtly roguish and Ariadne felt her face turn red but laughed.

She rolled her eyes. "I take back my earlier comment. Clearly, your tie's meant to keep your head from floating away because of all of the hot gas."

"With people like you around, who even has the time for vanity?" he asked with a saccharine smile, which she returned. She blew a puff of air to clear the loose hair from her face.

"Shut up and just do it already." She held out her limp wrists

Arthur reached over and unclasped the silver handcuff from her wrists delicately and led her to the sink. "Cute," he said, bracing her small wrist in one hand. "Were you always this fun to work with?"

"Oh because working with you is always," she said, her voice leadingly sweet, before she dropped down to the ground, "a real treat, Arthur."

With a snap Arthur had her chained right next to Micah. She arranged her skirt around her. "Quick to bring me down with a smile. There's the girl I remember." He got up and started to walk away. At his retreating back, he heard her scoff.

"That's funny," he heard her call out after his echoing steps, his self leaving the room. "Leaving me." He heard the roll of her eyes in her tone. "That's the boy _I_ remember."

**xxxxx**

_Two years ago . . ._

_"I struck a deal."_

_"Ariadne, what are you talking about?"_

_"With Cobol. I struck a deal to get that price off Arthur's head," Ariadne said into the phone, her heart pounding. She clutched her fist over her chest as she paced the room, talking frantically._

_"What? Ariadne, you have got to listen to me, Cobol doesn't do deals. They don't. You can't do this," her friend entreated, the familiar accent comforting in the hotel she was in. They weren't as harsh as she thought they would be, given the circumstances of an informal kidnapping._

_They allowed her to leave and go back to a comfortable hotel they set up for her, only giving her a very serious warning about her not leaving the city soon. She plopped onto the edge of her mattress, staring at her dark reflection in the TV screen._

_"They'll go after Arthur," she said. "He didn't deliver."_

_"And giving yourself to them is the next best thing?" the Forger demanded. "Where are you?"_

_Ariadne was afraid of this portion of the interview. She knew it would be there when she called—hell, she called because she felt she needed someone to care to ask—but a part of her knew that she was being unfair in even putting this out for him, putting the Forger in this position. He gave her his number only for emergencies. He said the words with a slight look at the Point Man over her shoulder, and Ariadne rolled her eyes, before braving a hug at LAX, when she last saw him._

_She took a deep breath. "They want him."_

_"Ariadne—"_

_Ariadne felt the dry sob come up. She didn't plan for it to, thinking she let it all out already. She wasn't the type to be this weepy in the first place actually. And she comforted herself with the thought that this was unwarranted and she was amazed at how much was left. "He's as good as dead," she went on. "They assured me of that."_

_"Ariadne, he will find a way to square it with them. He can handle himself. This isn't up to you."_

_Ariadne dragged her arm across her eyes as another choked sob came out. "They think I can deliver him, but—"_

_"You need to get out, now," Eames advised her. His tone rising in panic. "This isn't a good idea, Ariadne. Cobol doesn't just do deals. How can Arthur—"_

_"He doesn't know." She was quick to interrupt, realizing that she started her story in the middle with the Forger._

_"What?" His tone startled her, and the old Ariadne was back for a moment as she felt offense at his thinking that she needed Arthur to watch her._

_"Arthur doesn't know I'm here," she said, attempting to clear everything up and holding onto that bit of confidence surfacing. "We're not together anymore," she added halfheartedly, clutching her phone._

_She heard him sigh, imagined him looking deflating. "Where are you?" The tone was much softer now, much more understanding, but there was a hardness to it that Ariadne grew suspicious of._

_"I don't need you to help me, Eames." Though, lord knew why she called him. She just needed . . . an uninhibited wall to discuss this. She needed to have a frank conversation with someone who knew what she was going through. And next to Arthur, the most recent person she kept in contact with was Yusuf or Cobb. Both had families, though. Both would help her, she knew, but she couldn't get them both tied up in this again. They wanted to get away from this game. No. No. She needed someone who was still a player._

_"No," her friend said with a sigh. She imagined him shaking his head in that familiar way. "But you need a friend with you right now."_

Ariadne tried her best to think of what Micah Roebuch might be feeling as a kidnapped heir. Worried, yes. Frantic, of course. Scared, that went without saying. When she was first taken by Cobol, she tried to imagine her way out of it, optimistically being in denial about everything and about Arthur.

Dumped and kidnapped in the same year, she remembered thinking with bitter sarcasm. It was only up from here, she figured or so Eames would joke when he joined her for her return into dream con.

Ariadne prepared to be as comforting as possible given the circumstances as Micah started to stir. "Micah?" she whispered. When she saw his eyes begin to open, Ariadne backed away slightly.

"Charlie?" Micah sat up, still disoriented. "Charlie!" He looked relieved that she was all right, his eyes roving her body for signs of abuse or scratches in such a caring way that she felt guilty for cheating him out of information. No. That wasn't right. Ariadne had closed herself off from guilt long ago. There was just a mark and a goal. Success and failure.

She didn't need to feel sorry for him. She was already letting her feelings get in there too much.

Micah sat up—too quickly—before sliding back down. He blinked a few times. "Where are we?" he asked, his eyes adjusting to the waning lighting filtering through the dirty window to their left.

Ariadne shrugged, watching him. Funny that she could answer this honestly. "I don't know. I just woke up chained here." Well, sort of honestly.

"What?" he sat up further.

"Careful!"

Micah barely missed hitting his head on the sink above him. He pulled away but his arm wouldn't let him any further.

Ariadne looked him over, seeing how his eyes darted around the room and his ears strained for noise. She took all of this as a good sign to get the ball rolling. "I overheard him talking to someone, Micah. They want the combination to your father's vault," she said quietly, "and they think you have it."

"Why would I?" he replied, still looking a little dumbly at his arm.

Ariadne placed a conciliatory hand on it, drawing his attention to her. Immediately, she saw how his eyes softened towards her. She felt his gratefulness at not being by himself in this situation. She smiled to be encouraging. "I don't know. They just need to get in there, and soon, and they think that holding you hostage would help either barter to get inside or just get the number."

"Why would they need to get into his vault?" he asked.

She shrugged, dragging her hand back. "I heard them. There are expansion plans inside. They need them."

Micah looked thoughtful over this, rolling his eyes to the ceiling. He exhaled loudly. "Unbelievable."

And Ariadne nodded along with him. "You're right. We need to bust out of here," she said, testing her strength against the handcuff.

Micah placed a hand on her wrist. "No." She stopped. "It's unbelievable that you got pulled into this."

She smiled at this genuine mark of concern, and Ariadne shrugged. "I'm just glad that we're together at least." And there it was. That tiny flicker of appreciation, that spark of gratitude that made Micah Roebuch lean over and kiss Ariadne—Charlie—on the cheek.

It was sweet of him, she thought, as he backed away and placed his hand on hers, comforting her in the only way that he could a stranger. Because, she knew, in his mind, they had just met. She was the girl he picked up at a club, had breakfast with, and took to his father's fundraiser. She was a girl he thought he could impress with his grandeur, to distract himself as he went through these motions. She saw him do it in a few of their reconnaissance missions with a variety of girls in a variety of venues. She knew her role as one of them. She was still a stranger, but the circumstances she placed them in sped up emotions.

She knew he could get his trust quickly. She knew that she was on the path towards it. She was close to getting her own freedom as well using him like this.

Right on time, Arthur came into the room to look at them.

Ariadne looked from the door then at Micah. She gave him a quick wink of reassurance when he met her eyes briefly.

Arthur called out to them, something she should've been paying attention to, but she was too busy calculating.

"So," Arthur started. "Are you ready to talk?"

Micah glared at him. "Not to you," he replied.

Casually, Arthur pulled out his gun from behind him, brandishing it with careless cool. Ariadne thought that the Point Man was sometimes too dramatic in the roles he would assume in dreams. She remembered the ski masks during the Fischer case. "You sure?" he asked, aiming the gun at him, then Ariadne.

She widened her eyes and looked at Micah, who looked equally scared, albeit genuinely, but he held out his palms in the universal sign of surrender. Ariadne saw Arthur smirk at her, before sending his attention back at the heir. "Okay. Okay," Micah started, "I don't have it."

"Don't or are you being impudent?" Arthur asked. His arm never faltered.

"Don't," Micah said with a sigh. Arthur cocked the gun. "But I can get it!" Micah insisted quickly.

Arthur aimed the gun. "How?"

Micah looked over at Ariadne, who nodded. "If you're after the plans," he started. "I have my own copy at my apartment."

"How do I know you're not lying?" Arthur asked.

"I'll take you there," Micah insisted. "I can take you there tomorrow."

Arthur lowered the gun. "Perfect," he said with an odd sort of smile, pivoting on his heel and turning out the room. He stood only a few steps away when he heard Ariadne's voice shot up.

"And don't you ever point a gun at me again!"

The Point Man turned to look at her over his shoulder and rolled his eyes as he made his way over. "Excuse me?" he asked, standing above them.

Ariadne looked almost annoyed at this need for her to repeat herself. "I said—"

"I mean, I heard you, but you're not really in the place to make demands, now, right?" Arthur asked. She could see that he was trying to keep up with her brash actions, qualifying a result from it, and she knew Arthur was off guard when someone was winging it. She was, a lot.

"Maybe," Ariadne said, her arm stuck in the air above her because of that damn handcuff. "But you're not really in the position to be—" And Ariadne lunged forward as fast as she could—that stupid dress holding her back—and she brought Arthur to the ground. She heard Micah scuffle forward as far as his handcuff would allow, but he was really no help. She heard him grunt in frustration as the metal held him back.

Arthur, surprised from the outburst, was brought down immediately, and Ariadne used her skirt to tangle his legs. She trapped them like a net, and she rolled both of them away from Micah, her shoulder smashing into the wooden floor with strong force.

"Must you?" Arthur said amidst the struggle as he did his best to push her away amicably and roll so that he was on top of her again. Attempting to free himself, he kicked his legs, which were longer and his muscles were stronger, so she had to take some pride in knowing that he was struggling slightly.

He pulled one arm behind her, wrenching it so it strained and hurt slightly, unused to being bent this way. It hurt like hell, but Ariadne was used to this tactic before and Arthur wasn't seriously holding it. It was just a way to stop her, she knew.

"I think we're going to have to rethink these arrangements," he said, standing up and pulling her with him.

He made sure his gun was still on him before he dragged her out of the room, and once they were a few feet away with the door shut, Ariadne exhaled as Arthur dropped her arm.

"Thanks for the warning, by the way," Arthur said, rubbing his hip.

Ariadne shrugged. She looked at the back of her shoulder as best as she could. "You chain me up, expecting me to not dream up a spare key on the bathroom counter?" she asked, holding it up. Arthur's eyes widen. "Tsk, tsk, Arthur," she said, waving the small silver thing back and forth. "I expected better of you." Her eyes lit with arrogant mischief, and Arthur frowned.

"Trashcan."

He said it so suddenly, jolting her self-satisfied smirk into a perplexed grimace. Arthur took comfort in his adhoc and he purposefully left it at that.

Ariadne's eyes squinted slightly. She brought her hand back down. "Pardon?" She seemed to relent the question, humoring him for a decimal of a second with condescension that Arthur usually would exude.

Arthur relaxed, because he knew what that condescension meant. It meant that she was unsure. "Your trashcan back in your hotel," Arthur said suavely. "You didn't have anything in it."

She was quick to rebut. "House cleaning."

Arthur lifted an eyebrow at her. "For having just gone out on a date and wearing make-up?" he scoffed. "You probably attributed your towels and made bed to house keeping, right?" he asked. "But it was evening and housekeeping had already made their rounds. Plus the remote was still on top of the comment card on the desk, and we both know you would've moved that by now. A maid wouldn't have touched it."

Ariadne didn't break. "Oh, don't try to be impressive. Don't pretend that you saw these inconsistencies at the time. You still didn't know."

"No," Arthur allowed, really easily. She didn't seem prepared for that response, and Arthur relished that as well. "But that's because you were there."

He looked at her pointedly, willing her to feel the weight of his attention, and she squirmed slightly. He could see that she didn't like it. Granted, it was damn near flirting on his side, and it was somewhat funny to put her on edge like this.

Ariadne took a few steps away from him and started to pace. "What was your original plan to get to the safe?" she asked instead. Back to business, he thought, understanding this tactic quite easily.

Arthur shrugged, leaning comfortably, feeling very much so as he knew he was getting to her. "Stage a meeting between him and his father during the fundraising gala, his father hands him an important document to keep safe. We follow him to his apartment to get to the safe. Once he puts the letter inside, we takeover."

She nodded along to this, bringing her hand to her chin in thought. He had seen her do this several times before. While working with her or if she just got an idea, she tended to do this. Her fingers scraped lightly at her chin, before taking walk up to her lips and covering them completely. She'd sit that way and would stare into air, lost in thought, and then she would be off to bend physics or something wonderful that Arthur wanted to witness.

"You look beautiful in your dress by the way," the Point Man added, and he had the satisfaction of seeing a hard blush takeover her creamy skin as she dropped her hands from her lips to look at him.

She stopped, mid-stride, but then continued as if he hadn't said anything, though Arthur saw the slight once over she gave him. He smirked knowingly.

It wasn't lost on Ariadne, who ruffled even more at her ex's expression. She paced a few feet as she considered this, thinking furiously. No. No, Arthur was not flirting with her. No, he didn't look very_ dashing_ in his tuxedo and his hair slicked back. She paced a little farther out of his gaze, hoping that the heat form her face wasn't showing.

Hell, she knew it was, because her skin was just _that_ pale, and her face felt warm, and she had that same sensation in her gut when she first caught the Point Man noticing her.

She needed to focus on something else. She looked up at the room, simply furnished with a few wooden chairs and a table. It was a bare cement sort of loft with large windows, and on the sill, next to her where she stood she saw an antique princess phone. That was odd. That was odd because it was simply out of place in a setting so industrial, but there was something especially odd about it.

Her eyes lingered on it for a moment longer, the image breaking into her thoughts because they used to have one just like it. It was white with ornate gold filigree. The receiver sat on a metal gold prong feeding from a creamy base with a rotary dialer. Arthur thought the antique find extravagant, but Ariadne loved it. She put it on their windowsill for aesthetic.

_"It doesn't do anything. We don't even have a landline," he pointed out._

_"No," she agreed. "But I just like it." And that was that. She'd run her hands over the metal wheel, pretending to call people, sometimes Arthur in the kitchen, who would shake his head, until her trilling of a phone ring forced him to gesture his fingers in a phone shape and answer._

_"Who is this?" he'd ask. He never played right. He never pretended to answer properly._

_"Do you have Mr. Clean in a bottle?" she'd ask in French, sniveling, and he'd roll his eyes and play along, probably because he knew it would make her happy, most likely because he wanted to get back to cooking._

The phone was out of Arthur's view, sitting behind a cement pillar, hidden almost, so Ariadne didn't say anything as she turned back to him. "Simple." She stopped. She looked back at the phone, then at him. "What were you going to do about the subsecurity?"

He didn't miss a beat when he looked at her. "Handle them."

Ariadne smirked at this familiar response. "So his apartment is already designed?"

"Yes."

"Fine. You're going to let us escape."

"And then what? He'd have to go to his own safe."

"He'll lead me to it."

"And me?"

She forced herself to appear innocently blank. "What?"

Arthur almost laughed. "You think that I'm just going to let you grab his secrets, don't you? You forget that we're not entirely on the same team."

"No," she said a little cheekily. "I didn't forget."

"Ariadne," he said so reasonably that Ariadne was immediately on alert. She studied the slight crinkled at the edge of his eyes and the way his steps towards her were tepid at best, as if she would rush away.

She felt her face heat again at just watching him as he walked up to her, holding out his hand—she felt her muscles strain in her forearms as she brought them to her sides, prepared for anything—and yet, he stopped right there. Standing close but with some distance, Arthur held out his hand, and like a yo-yo, he released the ring on the chain. "I've been meaning to ask," he started so casually as the ring twisted in front of them, "Why was this on you?"

Instead of facing him, she chose to study the spinning ring between them, watching as the diamond on it caught the light from the window over and over again. It was stupidly dazzling like that, and there was a time when it would catch Ariadne's eye as she would sketch or fold laundry or simply sit on the train. And at those millisecond moments, Ariadne would flex her fingers and strain her forearm out slightly to admire her own hand in a universal feeling that every engaged, in-love person would feel when her future holds a positive sort of reassurance. Because it was a promise that someone would be there with her for whatever that foxy mistress of life would throw at her. More importantly, it was a promise that someone wanted to be there with her.

Ariadne looked up at him, unable to fight the steely look he cast on her. While his demeanor was flexible and easy, his expression was suddenly cold and foreboding. It made her bite back that caustic reply she felt coming, and she felt her reservations melt away at everything. She could lie about a lot of things. She already had really. But she couldn't lie about this. She reached out for it as if to test its merits.

"Um," she started, her fingers touching the silver band to stop its motion. She pulled it from him and held it. The chain slightly jerked it down as Arthur let go. "I—" What was she going to say? How much of the truth could she give without revealing everything?

"Um," she started, though even that was unnecessary. She heard an explosion outside, and immediately, like the trained professionals they were, they reacted in tandem. Ariadne headed to the window to see a large mob of people ransacking the street. But thankfully, they lacked direction or purpose. She attributed that to the serum. Ariadne looked at the light in the distance.

"How long were we supposed to get?" she asked instead, turning from looking at the window.

"Four days," Arthur said beside her. "Why?"

She faced him and his hands were back in his pockets. "You didn't notice the light, did you?"

"What are you talking about?" Arthur asked. He snapped really, and she couldn't tell if it was because of what she was going to say or if he was weary about her interruption on this dream.

"We've lost two days coming here. We have at least a day left."

Arthur took a step forward to see the mob of people coming closer. "What did you do?"

"This serum Yusuf gave us. It just delays the reaction, sort of as if the subject is drugged, but the brain tries to play catch up when it realizes that it's been duped. Time builds upon itself, so—"

"We don't have time," he concluded under his breath.

"We should've been using our time wisely," she said calmly.

"No," he corrected. He turned to her, anger surfacing at her pure acceptance of this as if she wasn't the reason that this all happened. "_You_ should've just stayed out of this in the first place."

Ariadne was already tying her hair up again. "I'm fully capable of doing this."

"Right, because it's been working so far. We're nowhere near getting into his safe."

"He trusts me," she insisted, her hands going to her hips.

"He seems to be the only one," he said, angrily, walking away from her, pinching the space between his eyes as he paced.

"Why do you always do that?" she asked, leaning against the wall. It wasn't lost on her that they were literally trading places now in this conversation.

"What?" he asked, breathing in through his nose and out slowly.

"Think you understand everything? This isn't the time for any of this—"

Arthur shook his head and took a few steps away from her. He stopped in his pacing and looked at her unjustified anger. Despite, his toying with her, despite his flirting—yes, flirting with her—he was infuriated. He took in a gulp of air into his nose and released it slowly again. How was it that she always seemed to be in this situation? Why was it she was always in the dream where Limbo was a possibility? She wouldn't need to be this way. And of her own accord, no less?

She didn't need to be this way. She didn't need to be this hard or cold or calculating. She didn't need to be _him_.

He wanted to prevent that of her. He thought that if he was out of the equation, it would help her.

But she was never innocent. Her wide eyes and short stature always gave that impression. The fact that she didn't know anything about extraction or illegality did that too, but he knew that she was intelligent. He always knew that she was capable of working properly in the field, but he didn't want that for her.

Arthur turned behind him, swearing he heard the familiar breaking of ceramic on wood. He looked back at Ariadne to see if she heard it, but she looked more livid than distracted.

_In their flat in Paris, she stood staring at him. It was another argument._

Arthur remembered that coil pot distinctly.

_Ariadne wasn't in the apartment but her mobile was. He came out of their room when he heard the distinct buzz then sound of ABBA's "Fernando" coming from her desk. He made his way over towards the messy table, sketchbooks, poster boards, and her calendar fought for property, and Arthur held his hands up at the entire mess as the phone continued to buzz and ring. He carefully shuffled a couple of papers one way then the other, listening for it, but it only seemed to make the entire endeavor worse._

_But that damn ring tone kept going, and Arthur's hands grew frantic over the items, shifting them this way, then that, before his hands fell on the tiny silver mobile. He pushed back a stack of paper to reach it better, which was when he heard it._

_That familiar crash of ceramic hitting the floor. He turned to see that roan colored coil pot, something a friend had given her, smashed onto the ground. He walked over to assess the damage, already knowing that it was too late to do anything to it. He picked up the still ringing phone without even thinking, just wanting the song to stop._

_"Ariadne?" a familiar voice asked. Arthur knew it immediately._

_"Yusuf?" Arthur asked, realizing he knew the voice._

_"Arthur?" Yusuf asked, clearly surprised. But according to his shift in tone, the quick way in which he got off the line. He knew that he shouldn't be talking to the point man._

_Arthur cleaned up the ceramic pieces, sweeping up the shards into a dustpan, then into a paper bag. There was a large scratch on the floor where the crash blossomed, so there was no denying that it was there. That it happened. And it stuck, acting as a totem to what had just occurred. She was in contact with Yusuf._

_She was trying to get back in._

_Arthur seethed with this knowledge, the misdemeanor growing the longer he waited for her to get back home. They told each other everything. They weren't the type to be this underhanded or sneaky, especially now that they were both willing to make a marital step._

_He was on the couch when Ariadne came in. She smiled when she saw him, but something in his stance tipped her off._

_"What's wrong?" she asked, taking a seat in the chair nearby._

_Arthur looked thoughtful for a moment, before leaning forward, his elbows on his knees as he turned to her. "Are you in extraction?" he asked, quietly, acutely studying her face._

_Ariadne's eyes bulged wide, her lip worriedly pressed between her teeth. He already got his answer. "Not technically," she started, elongating the word in an attempt to be funny, and Arthur had to swallow down a speech as she continued, sensing his seriousness. "Yusuf just asked me to design a few levels for him for a project he's been working on. I've sent over a couple of prints, but he needed one in particular to be redone. I don't actually know what the project is or who commissioned him. I just wanted to create something."_

_"Ariadne." Her name came out as a reproof of her actions, and Arthur shook his head._

_"And it's not anything, Arthur. I'm not dreaming. I'm not part of their team. They actually have a contracted architect, or so Yusuf tells me."_

_"Ariadne, a job can lead to another job, just as easily. The fact that your information is out there now," he stopped himself. "I thought we agreed."_

_Ariadne's eyes were hard as she stared at him. "You agreed. You told me. We never once talked about it."_

_"I've told you!" he scoffed._

_"Exactly, Arthur, you _told_ me," she said, scathingly. "I didn't talk about it with you, I didn't have a say. Because you won't listen!"_

_"Because it's for your own good!"_

_She stood up, heading to the kitchen. "Because you decided it!" she huffed._

_Arthur was on his feet too. He watched her turn to face him, her face splotchy from anger, her eyes shiny with suppressed emotion, emotion he didn't understand fully. He looked at the corner of her desk where that coil pot sat, and she followed his gaze. She noticed it too._

_"I broke it, when I found your phone," he said quietly. "It was an accident."_

_Ariadne nodded. "It's fine. Jenny can make me a new one."_

_Arthur nodded, dumbly._

_"Where's my phone?" she asked._

_Arthur held it in his pocket. He almost forgot. He fished it out and held it out to her, then thought the better of it. "Are you going to call Yusuf?" he asked._

_She didn't even appear remorseful as she answered. "Yes."_

_Arthur pulled his hand back. "I don't think that's such a good idea."_

_She scowled. "Why not?" _

_"Because it's not safe, Ariadne."_

_"If it was it wouldn't be fun," she joked, though when her eyes turned to him, she could see that he didn't appreciate it. He saw her change tactics. "Arthur, don't you remember it? That rush? That risk? You used to love it."_

_And Arthur remembered that conversation back to when they were first getting to know one another. He sighed heavily, feeling like an old man as he thought back to that memory, especially as he started to prepare a lecture to his fiancée._

_"Ariadne, I just don't think that you can do this," he started, slowly professing each word with careful deliberation, though she puckered up at that._

_"Why do you keep on insisting that I'm not capable? I was the one who made sure that the inception job worked!"_

_"The inception job was based on luck and heedlessness," he corrected. "Extractions are more than that. There's timing, there's precision. There are way too many factors than you would understand."_

_"Then teach me." Her face started to glow at the prospect. "You and Cobb say that you were the best, so who better to teach me?"_

_"I can't do that! Why can't you just accept that I'm thinking about your best interest?"_

_"And why can't you accept that you're not my keeper?" Arthur stopped, incredulous. "I'm tired of you trying to take care of me, Arthur. It's time I start thinking about myself."_

_"And us?" he asked, his voice dry. His throat ash._

_That question was so simple. It was said so quietly too. It made them both look around to see if anyone else noticed how grand that question was. Their expressions mirrored looks of desperation at one another, and Arthur wondered how two people who loved each other so much, could disagree so often._

_Ariadne broke first. "There's always us, and if you love me, then you would understand," she said. The words burnt and flung in his face like a challenge._

_"That's not fair, Ariadne, and you know it," he said dangerously quiet._

_"Because you won't give me a chance."_

_"Because you're asking that I choose you and lose you or choose your safety and lose you."_

_"I'm not saying that."_

_"Think about it, Ariadne," he said callously, and he could see the shift of anger on her own clear face as his own grew._

_Ariadne stood there, burning. "I want a life of my own Arthur. You may be ready and gung ho to settle down, but I—" She stopped and faltered. "I'm not…"_

_"You what?" Arthur asked, faltering, his own conviction wavering at the sheer honesty with which she spoke. Anger he could handle. Anger he could fight as sheer passion. Calm insisted that there was careful thought to this. Calm meant that she made up her mind._

_"I think we're on different time lines," she said, looking down as if just realizing. "How old are you?" She shook her head before he could answer. He was stunned by the question. "How old are you in dream time?" she asked, her voice quietly considering, her eyes sliding from side to side, frantically, never settling on him per se. It bothered him. It shifted his stance, and Arthur had no notion of how to handle this._

_Arthur shrugged, attempting levity. "Seventy? Eighty? I've lost count, really."_

_"I'm only twenty-five," she said with speedy conviction to the point that Arthur understood he had said the wrong thing. "I spent my life in classrooms and lecture halls. I came to Paris to study building because I wanted to see a world that wasn't there before." She laughed hollowly, looking up at him. "I'm not ready to hide away from everything just yet."_

_Arthur took an immediate step towards her. "What are you saying?"_

_Ariadne held her hands crossed over her chest. Reluctantly she shrugged. "I don't know."_

_"No. It seems like you have this extremely thought out," he challenged. Even to his own ears he could hear how desperate he sounded. He shook his head._

_"We're just talking, Arthur," she said, again so damn calm._

_It egged him further. "I was just talking. It seems like you're ready to leave this." He could see her fight the frown on her face as she tried to smile. She should've been grappling with her portfolio and messenger. She should've been going to the atelier to go clear her head, so that he could make things better when she came back._

_But she just stood there, looking at him. His eyes flickered to her ring finger. The shiny band there was a reminder to him in some of his proud moments. But right now, it seemed more like a miniature handcuff._

In the dream world, Ariadne touched her blue dress, self-conscious. "I don't have a plan, okay?" she admitted with patient levity. "I'm basically just seeing how everything turns out, and it's working out fine." Arthur stood there in his tux. He rolled his eyes.

"Micah trusts me," she insisted. "I'll get him to store his secrets in the safe in his apartment and get it."

"Then I'm going too."

"Yeah because he'd show his kidnapper," she said with a scoff, putting an end to any of her professed frankness before.

Arthur glared, and made his way towards her, dropping his chin as he grabbed her wrists. He looked to be studying the inside of her hand, the pad of his own thumb gently roving over the skin and veins. Ariadne felt her breath hitch as she watched him, unable to let go of the fact that this was the most intimate moment she felt with Arthur since this hashed reunion. Yes, even since when he was right on top of her.

She watched him acutely, wondering at this action, wondering if she should tell me him to stop, but she didn't snatch her wrist away. She simply stood there for a good while, holding her breath, conscious of her pounding heart, until Arthur pulled away. Her wrist dropped to her side as if nothing had just happened.

"You've been under a lot," was all he said, turning away from her to pace the room again. Ariadne picked up her hand and considered her wrist, looking at the few, incremental needle marks there. She was always careful, but she understood what he meant. The fact that needle marks were showing was a bad sign. It showed excessive use, more jobs, reckless or quick plunges under.

She remembered looking at Arthur's own wrist once. Holed up in bed, one arm draped behind her, she studied his hand and wrist between her fingers, tracing the scars that his job left. He explained it to her then, almost apologetically, but even then, Ariadne didn't see anything wrong.

"I'm going to go change," she announced, and Arthur stopped mid-pace to acknowledge this with a scowl. "What?"

"Does it matter to even tell me anything?" he asked. "It's not like you need my permission or even my consideration for anything anymore."

Ariadne bit her tongue, stinging at his tone. She deserved it, she knew. She knew she deserved just as much as unkindness as she had put out there from the beginning. Hell, she was surprised that Arthur was still attempting to talk to her at all, but she didn't say anything.

Arthur spoke first. "Closet," he said as he shoved his hands in his pockets and gestured with a jerky nod of his head in the direction of a closet.

Ariadne stayed still for a moment, then shuffled over to what appeared to be a cleaning closet across the room.

Inside were dirty mops, brooms, a few disorderly buckets, and on a hook hung a small janitorial uniform. She made a grab for it, when her hand brushed up on the familiar, light material of a scarf. She looked up and saw a single hanger with one of her favorite scarves hanging from it. Her fingers ran over it lightly. She remembered it. It was one of the ones Arthur had given her. The familiar feather pattern on it was unique, achingly recognizable. Why it would be here, she couldn't say, but she pushed down the thought as she grabbed the blue janitor uniform. It was a little big, but it would be better than her gown.

She quickly reached for the side zipper to her dress and started to lower the bodice before she realized that Arthur was watching her.

She turned around, her face blushing like mad.

"It's not anything I haven't seen before Ariadne," he said as if bored.

Ariadne's face was still red. "Shut-up."

He leaned back, looking at the ceiling in dramatic fashion to avoid her. "Take it as a compliment."

"Were you always—" she threw one arm then the other into the top part of the uniform, letting the pants hang down to block her as she stepped out of the skirt. "—_always_ such an ass?" she asked, turning around. She drew her hands under her hair and tossed it outside of the collar, then stood akimbo to look at him.

Feeling her gaze, he tilted his chin down to look. Arthur smirked, then gestured towards her open top, which gaped slightly. She blushed harder and turned around immediately to do herself up.

"Better get going. Lover Boy will be waiting."

She scowled at that jibe, but only asked for the night to get Micah to store the secrets.

Arthur stood aside. "Whatever you say," he said offhandedly, watching her until she walked back into the room and door snapped shut.

**xxxxx**

_**A/N:**__ Thank you kindly, Lauraax, Guest, Guest, and Guest. Seriously, I'm assuming each Guest is a different individual, but thank you guys for the love and I hope you like this update. Also, I got to see Don Jon a week ago. I'd love to hear if any of you did, and what you thought of it!_


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

_A year ago . . . _

_The fading sunlight filtered through the blinds while Ariadne was lying on the bed in her hotel room, her knees bent as she stared at the chain dangling from her hands. The diamond on the ring looped within the chain glinted and turned on its own, ever revolving._

_There were days when she wouldn't think about it, when she would let life consume her and she would keep busy enough that the chain around her neck never registered. But those days were rare and few, and she would look back at it with guilt, rather than progress._

_Was it progress if she forgot? Was that getting over it?_

_A part of her hated the idea of leaving something behind. Those days when she would feel fine, she took as a sign that that part of her life was definitely over, that it would be harder to get back to that point of being happy._

_Should she still want that life if Arthur clearly didn't?_

_She debated that. She felt responsible for his leaving. Hell, she knew it was her. Their last argument, the one before he left, created a tension between them that she knew required more than just leaving to clear up. It needed a long, overdue talk, one that she and Arthur had been sidestepping around. She knew he didn't want it, avoided it because he approached solutions on his own, but she needed to clear the air._

_She was suffocating in her own guilt, because she was starting to think that she didn't love him anymore. His inability to talk about the stifling desire to dream more was eating at her, and the more she would even entertain the thought that she maybe, possibly didn't love him anymore, her stronger urge came out. The one that screamed, no, no, no. And she would feel awful all over again. She'd clam up if only to stop herself._

_Going behind Arthur's back with Yusuf was a terrible idea. She thought that maybe she could have her cake and eat it too, but it looked deceitful. Okay, it was deceitful, and Arthur didn't deserve it. He deserved her full attention, because he was wonderful, caring, enthralling, and he loved her._

_She just couldn't suffocate anymore. But what was there left? Stay with him and just cope on her own? Leave him and break her own heart and his?_

_She didn't need to make that decision, apparently, because Arthur chose for them both._

_"Ariadne."_

_Ariadne looked up at the Forger who just came into her hotel room. She dropped her hand with the silver chain, hoping that he didn't see. Of course he did, though._

_"You're still holding onto that?" Eames asked, quietly, approaching her._

_And Ariadne wasn't going to play denial. She sat up as the Forger sat on the edge of her bed. "Yes." A simple response that signaled how easily she accepted her new lot in life._

_She waited patiently for the Forger's lecture. She waited for him to tell her that she didn't need the Point Man, because while the Forger knew Arthur longer, had strong ties to him, he didn't waste any time in telling her that she was fine without him. Not that Eames was quick to slay the Point Man. The worst he said was a slight against him for leaving her, but other than that he kept mum, supporting and encouraging her when she felt like saying things. Because being kidnapped, forced to work, and broken up with the love of your life in the past four months is a lot to handle on your own. "Do you want to find him?" Eames asked._

_She didn't expect that answer. Eames was part of the "your better off without him" school of comfort, and he hardly brought up the subject himself, waiting until she braved up a topic. But all at once, Ariadne appreciated his friendship even more. The fact that he even suggested it was comforting._

_Ariadne looped her fingers around the silver band, remembering his proposal and how her heart swelled up at his sudden bout of sentimentality. She shook her head, unable to say it outright at first._

_"We can, you know," Eames went on. His eyes soft and patient. "It's a small community and with the right connections—"_

_As if that tempting thought never occurred to her before. She had the resources and connections now. Finding him, despite his propensity to stay under, deep under, the radar, she knew she had the skill set to find him now, if she wanted. She also had the skill set to stay hidden herself, though._

_"Eames," she pleaded._

_And she suspected that the Forger saw her face break at it. The temptation was always there to find him, she knew. She made enough connections already to inquire, but she also knew that she was living a life he would disapprove of. One he never wanted to see her in. What would she say then when he asked her how she got into this?_

"Charlie."

Ariadne looked up, still mulling over Arthur's dejected tone as she made her way back into the room. Her hand still on the knob as she pushed it shut behind her. The floorboards creaked as she carefully made her way to Micah. She wasn't sure what her face was doing, but she attempted a smile at him, which he returned reassuringly.

She sat down on the floor across from him, and Micah, picking up on the weight of this probably, sat up. "You're with him, aren't you?"

Ariadne had this rueful smile on her face and shrugged. She wasn't very surprised. "That is an extremely loaded statement, Micah." The fact that he even inquired made her shrug. He wasn't dumb, she knew. Micah Roebuch had a mind of his own, and with how she and Arthur were acting, Micah would have to be daft not to notice that subtle bit of comfort they took in one another.

Even more surprising, Micah Roebuch didn't get angry and he didn't fly at her like she thought he would. He attempted to sit up casually, as if his hand wasn't chained to a dirty bathroom sink. "What's your real name?" he asked as if this was the perfect setting to break social niceties.

Ariadne leaned forward, elbows on her knees, considering him with her head tilted. "I'm really sorry, Micah."

Micah didn't seem to care either way. He had this noncommittal way about him as he looked towards the window. "I should've figured that you were with him."

She laughed. "Why?"

Micah flashed her a look that was overtly rakish, inciting genuine laughter from both of them. He wiped his face clean of it with his hand as their laughter died down. "Sorry," he went on. "But gorgeous girl who is insanely interested in me?"

She looked at the ceiling. "I wouldn't go _that_ far." She laughed at Micah's compliment and shoved it away.

Micah looked at her, and Ariadne remained tightlipped but smiling.

She leaned over the floor and stuck her hand out. "Ariadne."

He grabbed it. "Micah." They shook and she leaned back, her arms stuck behind her as if she was going to crab walk.

"You're actually wrong about me and—" Ariadne tossed her shoulders behind her.

"Excuse me if I don't believe you, _Ariadne_," he replied. She saw him stop slightly on her name, unused to it as he was.

"Understandable. But I can assure you that we're not together."

Micah's eyebrows shot up at that. "Bad break-up?"

"Bad lots of things," Ariadne admitted.

It was odd being this open with the mark. It placed them in extreme danger, but she figured with time moving so much faster anyway, she'd just see where this led.

Outside the bathroom, Arthur heard laughter. He wasn't sure what he was expecting when she walked through that door unattended. Their rouse, he knew, was probably up, and surprisingly, he didn't really care that much right now.

As with anything in dealing with her, Arthur didn't know what to do. She had a maddening way of making what he knew disoriented. Disorienting, but thrilling was what he accepted when he first met her. Hell, she had a way of looking at things that was downright straightforward, barreling towards goals and ideas with passion and conviction that simply took Arthur away. He used to get swept in it, wanting to join her and just see where they'd end up.

This was where they were, however.

Arthur pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed for Trevor, shooting a look over his shoulder at the bathroom door. He decided to drag a nearby chair over and under the doorknob as the dial tone went off.

The phone stopped and there was a break to let him know Trevor answered. "Trevor."

"Arthur."

"Eames?"

"Ariadne and Micah," the English man finished lightly. "Now that we've run down our cast list, to where did you take my partner?"

"Eames, Where's Trevor?"

"He's the one who knocked me out," Eames insisted. "I'm only lucky he dropped his mobile, so that we can have this lovely chat right now."

"He escaped?"

"He's not as complying as you are, darling," Eames trilled. "Now where are you?"

"Where are you?" the Point Man posed back.

"I'm making my way to the city. The last I saw of Trevor, he was headed to this way." Arthur knew that the route from Roebuch's mansion was kept the same to get to the city, so Micah could come back from the party without being the wiser. He only assumed that Eames knew that part of the layout already, having, apparently, studied Micah just as much as himself. "Let me talk to Ariadne."

Arthur looked at the bathroom door with the chair propped against the doorknob. "That will be impossible, I'm afraid."

He felt Eames tense at these words. He marveled at the note of concern that immediately took over the easy-going Englishman's voice. "What have you done to her, Arthur?"

Arthur was offended. "She's fine. I locked her up with Micah—"

"You mean you can't see her?" Eames asked, and the shift in tone took Arthur unaware.

"I kidnapped her," he fixed.

"Yes," Eames allowed calmly, almost as if he were speaking to a five-year-old Arthur. "But _you_ can't _see_ her right now, right?"

Arthur looked at the well worn bathroom door with the chair propped against the knob and didn't say anything, answering Eames' question. The Forger laughed.

"At least tell me where you are, and I'll help you find her," he was saying, but Arthur wasn't paying attention. He was taking careful steps towards the bathroom door, one ear listening for the careful noises from within.

"I'm almost in the city," Eames was saying. "Which way?"

He moved the chair, scraping it against the floor with no heed that it was a warning to the captives inside.

"Arthur?"

Arthur held the phone aloft and opened the door slightly before swinging it open. And just as he expected, it was empty.

"Arthur?"

Arthur stood in front of the bathroom window. It was pried open somehow. He never intended this window to be able to open, but then again, Ariadne was relaxed enough to change her circumstances in the dream. When he leaned out the window, he saw that there was also a fire escape that wasn't there to the original plan of this building. "She's not here."

Eames had the audacity to laugh. "I told you she wouldn't be."

"She took Micah."

"Well, yes," Eames agreed as if this was obvious, "that's part of the job. She needs him."

"We were working together," Arthur insisted, turning away from the raw daylight now streaming into the bathroom.

"Didn't you just tell me that you kidnapped her?" Eames pointed out.

"It was part of the plan," Arthur faltered. "You were supposed to take care of Trevor."

"Well, we both have something in common then, don't we?" Eames suggested.

"And what's that Mr. Eames?"

"Both of us just failed at our jobs," the Englishman answered with a relish.

And Arthur hated the Englishman even more.

It wasn't uncommon for Arthur and Eames to go years without seeing one another, and if Arthur was honest, he really didn't mind it. And while they both came to a respectful understanding of one another because of the inception job, they weren't each other's first contacts when in need. They just knew of one another, and that was that.

The last Arthur had heard of Eames, he was somewhere in Eastern Europe promoting himself in barely humble ways that he was part of inception. For once, smartly, the Forger cut ties with the rest of them following the inception job, and Arthur understood that Cobb and Yusuf were the only two members of the team, besides himself, that Ariadne had spoken to.

_When he realized that Ariadne had left Paris, he found Yusuf easily in Mombasa, showing up at the man's dream lab with a scowl to the Chemist's attempt at pleasantries._

_"To what do I owe the pleasure?" the nervous Chemist asked, sitting at his desk among amber jars and containers._

_Arthur stood erect, summoning all of his calm into one business demeanor as he told him about Ariadne missing._

_Yusuf looked surprised, then uncertain._

_"I told you to stay away from her," Arthur said, his voice heavy with warning._

_"I have! I haven't heard from her," Yusuf insisted. "The last time I spoke to her was maybe a year ago. It was also the last time I spoke to you too." He said this with a meaningful look at the Point Man. Arthur had taken it upon himself to make Yusuf disappear, to Ariadne anyways, changing his contact information from phone number, online accounts, even his wifi and identification in certain databases. The Chemist underwent it like a form of punishment, knowing that he overstepped his bounds when he called Ariadne._

_But even so, he wasn't one to just take it. "She's a grown woman, Arthur."_

_"She's impulsive."_

_"She can handle herself."_

_Arthur shook his head, his teeth baring in a semblance of a smile, but which appeared more like a wince. "I know she can," he said, his eyes meeting the Chemist's. "But she is just like Cobb. The dream world has a lure on her. She sees it just as provocative and encapsulating as Cobb and his wife did, and it destroyed them."_

_"Cobb's back with his children," Yusuf pointed out weakly._

_"But he not the same as before," Arthur insisted. "Not the same Cobb I remember, who created and was passionate and didn't walk around like he had to always look over his shoulder. Cobb's impulsiveness cost him the woman he loved. I want to save Ariadne from that. Can you understand?" And as the Point Man's eyes met the Chemist's over the desk, the Chemist gave a stiff nod, saying he understood._

_Months later, Arthur heard about Ariadne taking on a job with some firm. She moved out of Paris for good. She was living the life he wanted for her without him._

"Technically," Eames said as Arthur navigated the city streets, careful to avoid the populated main thoroughfare because of the growing hostility. Once Eames found the warehouse, Arthur took the car, telling him he knew the layout at least better than the hijacker. "Yusuf didn't lie to you when you visited him," he continued.

Arthur's jaw was set as he swiftly turned the wheel one way and then the other. He didn't reply to the Forger, but he felt his eyes as Arthur turned the wheel down a small alleyway.

"When we approached him about the serum after the job in Greece two years ago, I was the one who spoke to him. He never knew that Ariadne was part of the jobs until much later."

"But he still knew that you two were working with one another," Arthur replied. The car zoomed through the city.

Eames sighed. "Yes."

"And neither of you never thought to bring her to me?" Arthur demanded, scowling.

"From what I understood you abandoned her."

"I owed Trevor a favor."

"All you did was leave her a letter of apology with no promise of a return, and she waited for months."

"She could've waited longer." And even Arthur knew that that was not a leg to stand on, and the Forger spoke the Point Man's own thought aloud as he went on.

"You've said for years how hard it was to get out of dream con. What else was she supposed to think?" Intimate words from his and Ariadne's most heated arguments, thoughts and arguments that sounded like her own. The pair talked about it, clearly. Ariadne confided in the Forger further than made Arthur comfortable. Eames used to tease him about the young architect, pushing Arthur into a black mood for the rest of the afternoon.

Maybe because the Englishman was naggingly right, though Arthur was loathe to admit it. "I wasn't going to come back," he admitted finally, feeling a slight strain off his chest. "But I also didn't think I would regret the decision as much as I did." Which was why he did his best to leave the job, find her again. He was frantic to undo it.

And either the Forger took pity on the Point Man or he was just tired of being in the middle of this, he sighed. "She did wait," Eames rebutted calmly.

Arthur scoffed, only mildly ticked off. "Yeah, because that's what it looks like from my perspective."

The unease with which the Forger spoke next made Arthur feel somewhat relieved. "I think you need to speak with Ariadne about this."

Arthur thought the same thing, but even attempting to talk to her was a Sisyphean struggle. Because while it was easy to mess with her and to bask in her presence, she was loathed to be near him. She was ready to run if necessary, putting the job before him. She turned into a regular Arthur, if Arthur was honest.

Arthur drove on in silence for a few minutes, before he turned to the Forger. "You said Greece."

"Yeah?"

"You had a job in Greece two years ago?"

"Yeah."

"For Christ's sake," Arthur said, shaking his head as he matched up the timelines. "I didn't know."

Eames was again calm and rational, odd coming from him. "From what I understand, she was looking for you at the time."

Arthur shook his head again.

"Now's my turn to be demanding."

"Isn't that what you've been doing this entire time?" Arthur asked.

Eames looked out the windows around them, before turning to Arthur. "You lied to her back at the mansion, Arthur."

"What are you talking about?"

"I was with Trevor for a long time. I know what you did."

"What?"

The two men looked at one another dead in the eye. Both of them unsmiling. The Forger didn't hesitate. "You're the dreamer."

**xxxxx**

_Arthur didn't understand himself in that instant._

_He made the decision to leave. He was never one to just back track. He made decisions and stuck to them, loyal to his team, loyal to his convictions, but he needed to make this right._

_He couldn't just leave her a note and just accept that she would trust his decision._

_He told himself that he was going to come back for her eventually. He convinced himself later on that this was truth, when in reality—_

_He walked up the winding staircase and back to their apartment. Quietly he opened the door and peered inside to see if she was up, it was dawn—Arthur made the decision to come back as soon as he saw light and he made his way through the arrondissements to make it as if he didn't let it happen. An apology was on his lips._

_But he saw her. Through the crack of the door, he saw her already awake, her eyes bleary, dark circles underneath. She already held the letter._

_"It sounds like you're ready to leave this," he had said. Her cold, distant voice, the discomfort as they laid together in bed the other night came upon him. He watched, rather than made a move._

**xxxxx**

"What are you wearing, anyway?" Micah asked as he drove the hijacked—well, wasn't she on a roll—catering van down the road.

Ariadne noticed that the projections were missing. She looked around, wondering.

"Ariadne?"

"Oh, um," she looked down at her ensemble. "The dress was heavy." While that was true, Ariadne felt as if she was racking up more silly points with the heir.

He didn't seem to care though. "Right."

This had to be the weirdest extraction ever. Well, besides the fact that she was dueling her ex-fiancé for the mark's information and the fact that she was wearing a janitorial uniform, this was a weird extraction. Mostly because Micah knew more about her than was comfortable or necessary. She meant to just clue him in, tell him just enough to gain his trust, but once she started, she couldn't stop. Arthur was that elephant in her mind, sitting on all of her plans to get this extraction going. She might as well acknowledge that he was there, right?

But seeing as Micah kept asking questions and Ariadne kept answering, she knew that she was overstepping a line somewhere. She was just thankful that the heir would forget all of this once he woke up. Hopefully, Yusuf's serum, slowing down the projections, affected the long-term affects of the dream training Micah had.

She knew it was risky but he knew about her relationship with Arthur, how everything blew up from that, how she didn't mean to run into him, let alone go after the same job as him. She didn't mean a lot of things.

And Micah drove through the city, listening and handing out advice as if this was normal. Sped up Stockholm Syndrome.

He promised her that he would give her the plans already. He said it pretty decisively after her story about how her and Arthur were bother after these plans. She felt slightly suspicious and also adamant that he not do it out of pity.

"It's a power struggle already," Micah told her in the bathroom. "I think giving you the plans would balance it out."

Ariadne looked at him doubtfully, ready to argue that it still sounded like a pity handout.

Micah continued to squash those reservations, assuring her that in no terms was he being condescending to her skills, but acting on his own will. "And," he added a little glibly, "I may cater to that not so exclusive cliché that I want to screw the old man over."

"But he trusted you with it." What was she saying? Hell, give her the plans now.

Micah apparently found this outburst odd too but only acknowledged it with a lifted eyebrow, before they both dissolved into laughter.

This wasn't right. She wasn't supposed to be getting along with him or attempting to garner understanding, let alone laughing and developing jokes. Ariadne was already too close to the mark. She was already telling him too much, though she didn't talk about dream sharing when she spoke about Arthur. She made it sound like kidnapping and conning.

That probably didn't make it better.

"Patron of the arts, remember?" Micah said, pointing at himself with his free hand. "Con artists count in that sense too, I think."

And Ariadne laughed as they—albeit reluctantly on her side—struck up a deal. Their escape from the bathroom was pretty easy. Super easy really

She pulled a key she imagined from her pocket, taking his handcuff off. Turning to the door, she listened for Arthur's approach. She heard an exclamation, and she figured that the Point was either talking to himself or Trevor. Either way, she didn't have time. She walked over to the spotted window, pushing it up and open, before looking down at the alleyway.

No go.

Micah was right behind her, rubbing his wrist. At her expression, he saw that there wasn't a means for escape. He went to the door. It wouldn't budge. He shrugged, puckering his lips in a what-can-you-do frown that made her laugh again. No. No enjoying jokes with the mark. This was a strict business relationship.

She turned back to the matter at hand. Ariadne scowled at Arthur's thinking. They could shove the door. There were two of them, and it wouldn't take that many tries, but then they would have Arthur to deal with. Micah already picked her to give the plans to, but who knew what the Point was capable of? Well, he was the best at what he did for a reason, she knew, but even so, she had this guilty sensation at that thought.

He used to be best at what he did, she couldn't help but think. A part of her realized that it was her fault. She was his shade, and while she felt guilty that he created this semblance of her, Ariadne started to realize that she had no bearings over this version. This was not her. This was what Arthur had done to them, and while she had her own cross to bear in that circumstance, she could at least say that she wasn't responsible for this.

It went back to that anger she had, because he really did leave her.

"What do we do now?" Micah asked, turning to her.

A part of her wanted to just leave and let the Point Man figure out that he was duped.

Ariadne looked out the window again to see a rickety fire escape—made so to excuse her earlier expression—and she jumped out. She heard a worried Micah whisper her name frantically, but she knew that it was stable, though the metal groaned under her weight.

She popped her head back in, gesturing for him to come on, and though uncertain, Micah followed suit. When he was about to close the window, Ariadne stopped him. She wanted Arthur to know what she did.

Micah drove the catering van deeper into the city, telling Ariadne that he was starting to realize where they were.

Good, she thought. They were almost at the end of this mess she made. She'd just get the information, wait for them to wake up, and she could put Arthur and this job behind her.

**xxxxx**

A brick hit their windshield, and just like that hell broke loose.

Arthur swerved the car into incoming traffic, which only spurned on more hatred and attention towards them.

"Micah's mind was never militarized, either was it?" Eames asked over the screeching and hard turn.

"No—" Arthur said, shifting the gears and fighting the cars back. "—he never was."

Eames almost laughed at this. "So Ariadne shooting the chandelier was pretty uncalled for."

"Yes."

"But then again, you didn't expect her to do it," Eames continued, ducking as his window was shot. Glass came in on his side, and Arthur looked to see some of the projections glaring at them. Eames popped back up, shot the shooter, and Arthur stepped on the gas to head forward fast, in case the projections started to converge as a unit. Eames was full on chuckling now, shaking his head at his gun. "This is certainly a mess."

"Which you helped create," Arthur couldn't help but retort with a scowl.

"Which you and the dear Architect created," Eames rectified. "Trevor, Micah, and I are just along for the ride."

"Don't psycho-analyze this Eames."

"Arthur, I don't think we need a doctor to even realize that this fucked up plan is the way it is, because you and Ariadne just stopped talking to one another."

"How did this extraction turn into couple's counseling? We're not even together anymore."

Eames had a Cheshire cat look on his face, and Arthur knew that he walked into it. "That doesn't mean that you both didn't stop caring for one another." When Arthur looked over his shoulder at the Forger, he knew he was picking at his word choice from earlier.

He also knew he was right.

_He was intrigued by her early on. He was surprised by her when Cobb first brought her in. She was still a student. She was small. She had wide, curious eyes and a furious curiosity to measure up to what Cobb was explaining to her._

_"This is Arthur," Cobb was saying as he brought her closer. "And Arthur, this is Ariadne."_

_She greeted Arthur warily, shaking his hand firmly, but her eyes assessing him quickly, from his shoes to his hair. He took a step back and smiled, shoving his hands into his pockets and doing the same. "Pleasure," she said, unwavering under his gaze, and Arthur couldn't hide the smirk on his face as he realized how innocent she was._

_"American?" he asked, a little surprised. He looked at Cobb._

_"You are too, I gather?" she pitched back, and Cobb smiled as he stepped away._

_"Don't let Arthur bother you, he's just a little timid at what we're taking on." His voice carried with him as he strode over to one of the backrooms. Ariadne watched him, before her eyes flitted back to Arthur._

_"And what is that exactly?" she called after him, her hand gripping her bag onto her shoulder._

_Arthur laughed, and she looked annoyed at him. He stepped back. "It's something he'd have to show you actually."_

_"So I've heard," she said, still annoyed. "And as fun as that sounds, I think walking off to a creepy warehouse with a complete stranger—" She stopped, holding her forehead. Her bag slid off of her shoulder and landed at her feet with a thunk. She looked over at Arthur, who rushed forward, grabbing her arm as she lost balance. He called Cobb over, who came back, his sleeves rolled up._

_"You're safe," Cobb assured her, helping her into a chair. He crouched to speak to her. "Miles recommended you, and he knows me. He wouldn't put you in any danger."_

_Ariadne's eyes were still shut as she sat down. Her arm still holding her forehead. "Is that why you drugged me?" she asked, her eyes slitting shut, though she did her best to maintain a sort of dominance over the situation._

_Arthur leveled a look at Cobb, who shrugged. "I'm sorry about that," he said. "But you won't be harmed in any way."_

_"I knew that milk was too good to be true," Ariadne started but she stopped, her breathing coming out less frantically as the drugs took effect. Her head lolled to the side, and she looked at Arthur. "You too, huh?" she asked, and before Arthur could respond, she was out. Arthur tapped her shoulder to check._

_Cobb stood up, propping Ariadne onto his shoulder, Arthur on the other side to drag her to a lawn chair._

_"Milk?" Arthur asked as they settled her down._

_Cobb shrugged. "She didn't want coffee." He went over to the PASIV cases on the nearby worktable and started to fiddle with the timer and solutions._

_Arthur arranged Ariadne onto the lawn chair, propping up the back and pulling her legs out on top. He studied how he positioned her, before he decided to take off her jacket. He crouched and pulled her forward, working her right arm out of its sleeve._

_"What are you doing?" Cobb asked, and Arthur turned to see the extractor holding two lines of tubing, his expression unreadable._

_"Making her comfortable," he explained._

_Cobb lifted his eyebrows._

_Arthur was patient. "It's her jacket. It's not a big deal."_

_"I didn't say anything," Cobb said, waiting for Arthur to remove the other side of her red coat._

_He threw if over his arm and stood to make way for Cobb. "I just didn't want her to be uncomfortable," Arthur explained, but even he knew that he was talking too much. But to Cobb's credit, he didn't say anything as he leaned forward to attach the IV to her wrist._

_He stepped back to attach his own. "How much time will you need?" Arthur asked, walking over to the table with the cases._

_"Five minutes," Cobb called, taking a seat and reclining back. "Oh and I left you a present on the table."_

_Arthur picked up a sketchpad and held it up for Cobb to verify. "What is this?" he asked, picking it up, the bottom side up. He studied a large circle drawn in pen._

_"Her maze," Cobb said. "I thought you could work on it while you wait." Arthur studied it, holding it in his hands. "Unless you just want to stare at her while she's asleep," Cobb added lightly, and Arthur looked over his shoulder to glare at him as he pushed the plunger._

"How did you two start working with one another?" Arthur asked, attempting to deliver this coolly, but knowing that he failed. He started to turn down side streets to hopefully avoid the popular areas where projections would be converging. He felt Eames' damnable teasing expression on him as he steered, looking through the cracked glass of the windshield.

Arthur turned to face him, which only made Arthur scowl and Eames shake his head, complacently. "She called me."

Arthur didn't state the obvious that the Point Man was always more than willing to come to her aid, and the Forger seemed to pick up on this. "The circumstances about it were complicated," he added, apparently throwing the Point Man a bone. "You couldn't be reached."

"In what circumstance would that be?" Arthur asked with his jaw set in anger.

"You'll have to ask darling Ariadne sometime," Eames said, continuing to evade the answers artfully.

And while Arthur knew that this conversation was meant for Ariadne, that he should be asking and demanding these things from her, he couldn't help the next question that came from him as he drove. "How long have you two been working together?" He was aware of how he held his breath at this, almost hating the answer that the Forger gave.

"Pretty constantly for the past two years." It meant that she immediately went to work since he left her.

Remove temptation. That was his plan. A break, he figured, was what they needed or so he justified with as he debated his decision to leave her.

He would come back, he told himself.

Okay, well, he'd come back _eventually_. He just thought that she would be there when he did.

More than half of him wasn't surprised to hear Eames' response, though. Hadn't he thought of it when he came back that morning? Numb. She looked numb as she sat there on the edge of their bed, the yellow sheet of paper in her hand. She didn't look distraught or angry or hurt.

She wasn't going to make the decision, he realized. He'd make it for her.

"And that's all it has been?" Arthur nerved up to ask.

He turned to challenge any joking answer from the Forger, whose smile failed him when he replied. "I was always a gentleman."

Arthur didn't seem convinced as he turned back to the road.

Then that casual, "Oh didn't you hear? We're lovers now."

And Arthur punched it. He started to gas the car forward, ignoring Eames' heeds of warning. The sound began to build. The images beyond the car windows whirled into one another. Beyond the web of cracks on the windshield, they looked towards the side of a brick and mortar building. Arthur pushed further on the gas, and Eames gripped the arm rests. "Arthur."

Arthur wasn't listening. He continued calmly, his foot becoming lead.

"Arthur!" Eames said over the thunder of the acceleration.

That building was awfully close now, and still Arthur pushed forward.

"Arthur, dammit!"

Suddenly, Arthur achieved a deft right turn out of the alley and back onto the street. He threw a smirk at the Forger.

"Fine. No lascivious jokes about the Architect," Eames muttered, relaxing somewhat in the seat.

Arthur hid his smirk as he faced the road, when he heard his phone ring. He looked over at the Forger, who shrugged. Arthur pulled his cell phone from the middle console, expecting to hear Ariadne's voice on the following end.

"Hello?"

"Arthur," the terse voice said. "What the hell is going on?"

**xxxxx**

_In the same way that Arthur scrutinized over details. When he cared for someone, he filled that role accordingly._

_At her age, Ariadne had never been in love. She was the right age to be a vocal cynic, if not a wishful dreamer that it would be possible, but he was infectious in how gung-ho in accepting this new role as lover._

_And she couldn't help but smile at the thought that he would be meeting her down the block or that he would be there waiting at home. She loved having him so close and near, rather than on eggshells and in secret, like during the inception job._

_But there was something about being able to stay and not worry about timelines which showed her a different Arthur, one who was willing to accept whatever this was and just go with it, no agonizing over details, just going with the flow._

_Wow. She wondered if that phrase was ever used to describe the meticulous Point Man, and she laughed at herself to be analyzing him so much._

_But she was happy. Truly. She never realized that she needed him with her, until he ingrained himself into her everyday, until their walks became so in-step that she didn't have any other answer to his question, but yes._

Ariadne sat on top of Micah's couch, patiently waiting as any guest would, for the proprietor of the house to return. Micah, not knowing that this was a dream and that Ariadne had broken into his apartment before to recreate it for her own planned extraction, asked her to wait in the living room as he went to get the plans for her in his office.

And Ariadne plopped down on the couch, not really savoring the cushions, but leaning forward with her hands resting in her lap, smiling at Micah's attempt at playing host—"Are you thirsty or hungry?"—before he went to get the plans for her.

"You again."

That voice sent a shiver down Ariadne's spine. She looked over her shoulder at the kitchen area to see a tall man with buzzed hair pointing a gun at her.

"Trevor," she said, trying her best to gain her heart rate back. She never met Trevor head on. She'd seen a few pictures of him, especially since he became a target for Cobol, and she had heard plenty of stories. But she never met the men in the flesh, so to speak. And while Arthur shared a few pleasant, laughable anecdotes, and Cobb recalled the name fondly, Ariadne didn't feel the least bit safe or friendly as the extractor continued to advance on her with his gun brandished.

"You cause enough trouble as it is," he was saying, his voice low.

Ariadne's eyes were wide, and in the back of her mind, she hoped that Micah would have the thinking to stay in his office. "Trevor," she said as reasonably as she could, her heart rate escalating quickly. "What are you doing?"

"Arthur told me he had you under control," he muttered. "But he's gotten worse. A projection attacked me earlier on."

"He's real," she insisted, her eyes never leaving the barrel of the gun. She forced a calm she didn't feel entirely. "Eames is real. We're hijacking your dream."

Trevor gave her an odd look, before sighing, almost bored with this situation. "I'm sorry, but this is what's best for Arthur."

He's going to do it, she realized. The man was calm about all of this as she sat there trembling. It was a situation she was never prepared for. It was a situation she didn't really think would come up, and that veneer of control she attempted to maintain slipped away quickly. He'd do it. He'd shoot her for sure.

"Trevor!" she said with a slight panic. "I'm real! Eames is real! We're hijacking—"

Trevor was shaking his head in such a way that already told her that he wasn't going to listen to anything else she might say, and Ariadne grappled for a solid truth to pose to him. But she didn't know this man. They knew nothing of one another but rumors and hearsay. She was here in the flesh but he didn't know her in the real world, and she certainly had no way of reassuring him of her authenticity. Only Arthur did.

"Call him," she suggested, hiding the plea in her tone as best she could. "Call Arthur. He'll tell you." She remembered Arthur's cell phone in his pocket when she knocked him down.

Trevor looked doubtful, but there was that incremental flinch at her tone. And Ariadne scrambled towards it. "I'll sit right here," she promised. "Just call him."

Her request must have been out of the blue if he was even considering it, but Trevor kept his eyes glued on her as he pulled a phone out of his pocket. Her heart started to beat fast as she watched him dial and wait for Arthur to pick up the phone. Trevor kept his gun low, positioned at the floor as he waited.

In the silent room, she heard Arthur's voice. He sounded confused.

"Arthur," Trevor said. "What the hell is going on?"

And Ariadne held her breath, almost as if that would get in the way of hearing Arthur's response. "Trevor. Where are you?"

Trevor's eyes landed smack dab on her, and she looked at him, her eyes wide. "I'm with your Shade."

She heard a gruff curse from Arthur's side, profuse apologies.

"Save it," Trevor interrupted. "I'll take care of it for you."

It. She riled at that word and tried her best to contain her audacity, knowing that any form of aggression could easily be mistaken as Shade-like behavior. She remembered how Mal acted. She remembered how cold hearted and single-minded she acted.

She heard Arthur apologize again, profusely, and she knew that Trevor wasn't going to tell him the whole truth. She sat up. Her heart in her throat. Trevor lifted an eyebrow at her at that small, incremental action. He was testing her.

She didn't give a fuck. "Arthur!" she yelled, hoping her voice would carry. "Tell him! I'm real! Please!"

She couldn't hear Arthur's response on the phone, but she heard a flurry of responses. She heard her name. She heard Trevor's. She bit her tongue so that Trevor could make sense of all of this himself.

"Trevor! Trevor, where are you?" She heard Arthur demand.

Trevor was shaking his head again, almost reluctantly. "I don't know what's going on," he said a little dismally. "But, I'm going to try to salvage this."

"Trevor!"

She felt her eyes bulge as Trevor raised his gun at her. "You can't," she insisted. "You can't do this. You don't understand."

"Trevor!"

Trevor looked at the cell phone in his other hand as if he just realized it was there. "She's real!" Arthur's voice corroborated. "Don't do it. I can explain—"

Trevor was dangerously calm as he watched Ariadne and spoke to both of them. "Even if what you're saying is true, she's just going to wake up."

Ariadne was shaking her head furiously. Simultaneously, she heard Arthur insist with her, "No."

She felt her heart thump maddeningly in her chest. "No you don't get it—it's the serum," she said with a rush. "The serum—it's different." Her mind spread out in an attempt to reach for an explanation, but the more wildly she scraped, the more scattered her thoughts became.

When Trevor closed the phone, she knew that his decision was made up. She imagined where Arthur was. She looked at the living room. She felt her instincts kick in. She was a fighter. She knew how to defend herself against some of the biggest opponents. She had been in this situation before.

Guns to her head. Bullets to her chest. She had been shot, strangled, drowned in dreams before. Drowning was the worst. At least a shot in the head made it instantaneous. But it also meant that she would end up in Limbo without anything to hook onto. She wouldn't remember anything.

She'd lose herself for sure.

There was no way out of this. She just had to prepare herself.

"Trevor," she tried in a last ditch attempt, her heart and all of her feeling in his name. She scraped for something in her, willing herself to push for life, to push for making it out of this.

Trevor had a hard look on his face. The gun still pointed at her. "This would be the third job you've thrown for us. I can't let that happen."

It was ironic that she took this job to escape this life, and, maybe, in a way, she would be.

He raised the gun, and Ariadne's heart stopped as she heard the click as he prepared to pull the trigger. "I'm sorry."

_They never said that to one another before they went to bed that night._

_She knew she had said terrible things to Arthur, throwing his age in his face, talking about a life without him. Guilt racked her conscience into a sleepless night beside him. That was a good sign, she remembered thinking, that they were at least in bed together, rather than avoiding one another._

_She thought he was asleep as she did her best to tousle just slightly. She didn't give up on attempting yet, though her feet told her to be considerate and just go to the living room and find something to do. And the more she tried to make herself doze off, the harder it became, the more apparent her conscience weighed, and the bigger her regret grew. She exhaled sharply, before turning to face him, only to be scared shitless that his eyes blinked back at her._

_He apologized for being creepy, and she tried to make light of the situation with a nervous laugh. Arthur, on the other hand, pulled the comforter over her shoulder, looking at his own hand as he hesitated, before it dropped back to his area of the mattress._

_"I love you," he said, and Ariadne felt a smidge of her conscience lighten because of that reassurance. "You know that, right?"_

_Ariadne nodded, her heart hoping he'd say it again if only to wreck this wall of over thought she built up in these dark hours._

_"And I would do anything to make you happy," he went on._

_And Ariadne found herself saying the same things right back, feeling that security again and comfort. Inexplicably, she pulled herself across those incremental inches to rest her head on his pillow and bring his body against hers. "I know," she knew she kept saying, and this statement led nowhere but housed in the fact of him. Stalwart, dependable, stick-in-the-mud Arthur. Just Arthur being there. She knew that she wanted to be with him too._

_And she must've fallen asleep amidst her reassuring him, breathing him in, because the next thing she knew, her eyes were fighting through the mushy depths of sleep to pull herself against him. Even asleep, he knew her need for him, and he wound his arms around her waist in a comforting tightness that allowed her to bring her lips to his ear. "You," she whispered. "I'm choosing you, you dork." And Arthur murmured something sleepily right back, which Ariadne took to be gratitude as she snuggled back into her own shoulders and Arthur's arms._

_The next night was just the same, as Ariadne fell asleep without the work of tossing and turning. It was better because she fell asleep with the consolation that they were past arguing._

_Until she woke up without him there._

**xxxxx**

_**A/N: **__Thank you very much Lauraax for your super review! I hope you enjoyed this update! Thank you anyone who's still reading too! And happy October!_


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

Arthur and Eames made their way into the building without much difficulty. Despite the obvious interference earlier, the projections weren't anything that two professionals couldn't handle. Two very determined professionals with time on the line to be sure, but Arthur had a lump in his throat as he sped towards Micah's building, cursing himself for not taking a more direct route in the first place.

"You were supposed to watch him," Arthur accused as he slammed on the acceleration, the car thrumming wildly almost as if it couldn't keep up with itself.

Eames looked angry as well, but Arthur didn't care. "And you were supposed to be with Ariadne," he posited right back. Arthur heard the Forger's words soften slightly as he added. "She can take care of herself until we get there."

"Trevor wouldn't listen to me," Arthur insisted, turning only slightly to relay his own worry. "What makes you think that she'll be able to handle him?"

"I believe in her."

"And I don't?" Arthur snapped.

The way that Eames looked at him cut Arthur down to size. He turned away, angry, guilty, but determined as he pressed the car faster.

The two men were silent for a minute, stewing in guilt and worry. "Just get there," Eames decreed, and Arthur knew that he was just saying it out of an apology, as a peace. Arthur was guilty as well.

He was being unfair in taking his anger out on the Forger. He knew that it wasn't his fault, and if anyone was to blame it was Arthur.

He sagged slightly as he broke the tension. "She's wonderful," he admitted, "I know, but Trevor's patience with me isn't going to do her any favors."

He saw Eames look at him patiently, waiting for more of an explanation, but Arthur shook his head. "I need to tell her," he replied, and the Forger seemed to accept this without any arguments as the hum of the acceleration began to turn into a comforting white noise around them.

Arthur had no difficulty in navigating the roads anymore. He was too worried to make changes for him to get to Micah's faster, less the projections became more awake.

"You just wait," Eames warned when Arthur spoke these thoughts aloud. "It has a habit of speeding up when you get comfortable."

Arthur didn't like the sound of that, but he pulled into the parking garage to Micah's apartment and led the Forger to the elevator. Both men knew Micah's apartment building well, but Arthur lead, explaining that he made some changes to it, when he realized that they had been hijacked. The elevator and Micah's floor was the same, Arthur explained, but he essentially changed the layout if Eames went any further than a normal routine.

As each floor pinged past, the lump in Arthur's throat began to harden. The guilt in his chest began to suffocate him, and he made fists with his hands at his sides to release the tension. He felt his jaw clench. It didn't help that Eames shot worried, barely assuring glances his way.

As the doors opened to Micah's floor, both men were surprised to see Trevor standing before them, waiting to get on. He looked up to greet them, somewhat surprised as he held his hand towards his cut lip.

Everyone stood considering one anther for a moment, before Trevor took a step forward and immediately punched Eames in the face. The Forger, taken by surprised, lurched forward, dousing the elevator with colorful, creative curses.

The elevator binged as they waited too long in between the doors.

The Englishman crumpled forward, holding his face with a groan, and Arthur bent slightly to make sure that the Forger was fine. "Where is she?" Arthur demanded, standing up to look at his partner.

Trevor shook his hand from the recoil but was scowling hard at Arthur. "You told me you had this under control. You assured me that this wouldn't be a problem, again. Well, guess what, Arthur? We're doubly fucked." He shook his hand again, and Arthur's eyes widened at this.

He looked at his partner, before shoving past him. "What did you do?" Eames held his eye closed, groaning dramatically.

"What did you do, Arthur?" he asked right back.

"They're hijacking our extraction," Arthur explained, striding towards Micah's door.

Trevor grabbed the Point's shoulder, forcing him to turn to face him. Trevor looked murderous, then regretful. "I thought she was your shade."

Arthur softened slightly at his partner's expression. Trevor was there when the Shade first popped up. He was there when Arthur tried to handle it. He was supporting when he realized, still trusting.

But he knew that that patience was at the end of its tether. Arthur locked eyes with Trevor. "Trevor?"

Trevor's face broke with sincere guilt as he replied with a calm that sucked the air right from Arthur's lungs. "I killed her."

**xxxxx**

_Ariadne looked at the folded sheet of yellow legal paper again, her hand over her mouth._

_Acutely, she studied the feeling in her fingertips as if that was the most sensitive sensory ability at this moment. Smooth yellow paper. Warm, flushed skin of her face._

_The only thought she had at that moment was that this was exactly what heartbreak felt like._

_That voice taunted her. It was that voice that made her feel guilty about wanting to leave, wanting to dream. That voice had a big fat "I told you so," and didn't hide the fact now that Ariadne wanted this. She brought it upon herself._

_So what was she going to do now?_

_At her age, she never felt something like this before, and she honestly didn't know what to do but just sit there with her hand over her mouth. She didn't cry because she knew she deserved it. She didn't move because she knew that she didn't have a plan. She just sat there. She just felt numb._

**xxxxx**

Arthur entered the apartment with a weight in his chest. He struggled towards the body lying on the floor, his eyes bleary, his focus off. He wasn't sure about much of anything as he stumbled into the apartment.

Nothing.

This was all moot.

He worried about this. He knew that she couldn't get into this business because of this, these dangers that he put himself in every damn day—_chose_ to put himself into. But not Ariadne.

Ariadne had this idealistic approach to the world. Creating. Seeing. Exploring. She wanted to play the game. She always thought she had a handle on everything, enough to command the proper outcome.

And wasn't that what Arthur wanted to do at one point? Didn't he want to play? Entering someone's mind, being a step ahead of the mark created this game he loved. He loved being a step ahead, entrapping the prey. He was good at it too.

There's always a catch, though. He heard himself explain this to Ariadne when she first told him about the wonders of Yusuf's concoction. There's always a catch.

And he knew it better than anyone. There was simply no leaving this life. He knew that. It wasn't just that jobs led into other jobs. It was that _you_ wanted to take them. It was that you got addicted to the ride or the risk or the Soma. You did it till it ate at you and you couldn't escape. Sure you'd think you always had an out. You always could make peace with it, but it wasn't quite the same, was it? There was a pinnacle to when you had to get out. Get out before it got too good. Get out before you liked it too much. But when you passed it, you weren't heard from again.

There was once a time when he thought she could solve his problems. There was once a time when he thought that she would redeem him from this life, but there was no coming out of this fully. And there was no putting one person in charge of something that drastic for yourself. It was just plain unfair and lazy to do.

But she was his anchor back into reality. She was the person who would keep him ingrained in the real world, but what Arthur realized was that they were using one another for lives they thought they wanted. She wanted adventure and dreaming, and he was the person who brought her into that world. She thought that they could go on like that, and it was realizing this difference between them, seeing this expanse grow between them day by day, that made Arthur realize something.

Falling in love with someone was about finding that person who made you who you wanted to be. It made you bring out your best self and contribute your best to the outer workings of the world. Falling in love shouldn't have resulted in fights or resentment. Falling in love was wanting to bring out the best in that person, and Arthur realized that he put a fate on both of them that wouldn't do that anymore. They would grow to resent one another.

And Arthur knew that if he wanted, Ariadne would give it all up for him. He understood that she loved him just as much to even try, but he also realized that he didn't want her to make that sacrifice for him. Being in love with someone was doing the right thing for that other person, if it wouldn't be the right thing for you.

The dead woman on the floor taught him that, because she wouldn't be the same when they woke up.

Once they came out of this, there was no point, because he would know that she wasn't anywhere in the world for him. Her mind would be gone. She'd be living, but he would know that she would have eternity in her own creation. Worse, she wouldn't even know it. She wouldn't know how to come back to him. Would there be a point in waiting then?

He would know that she wasn't the same anymore.

"Fine. Then that settles it." Arthur looked up at the speaker, who was surprisingly cold. It was a commanding presence that Arthur took comfort in. "Eames?" he looked up at the Forger with surprise.

"You're going down there," he said briskly.

"What are you talking about?" And Eames was already set to work, bringing a defibrillator out from the kitchen and laying it next to Ariadne's body on the floor. He started to pull out the paddles as he knelt down.

"I'll give you a kick from above. You'll ride the kick up. When you see my signal, you'll know. We've done it this way before," he explained.

And Arthur just watched in awe. "The Fischer job?" That was a loaded question. It was a plan that Ariadne had come up with years ago on the fly, one that Cobb told Arthur, he never would've risked if not for her insistence. There would be more time down there. He remembered Cobb saying that that was the turning point in her argument. Her logic.

"I'm the dreamer, Eames," Arthur pointed out. "Once I'm gone, this whole place will start caving in."

Eames didn't hesitate. "Do you want me to go then?"

He locked eyes with Eames and for a minute, he read the Forger's fear so clearly. He was serious. Of course. They were partners. And Arthur knew that if he didn't go down to get her, Eames would do it in a heartbeat. He'd do it himself, Arthur saw, if Arthur didn't hop to any time soon.

Eames who would rather be on his own. Eames who was happiest when he was wandering. He stayed with Ariadne when Arthur chose to leave her.

"Let's see if Yusuf's stuff is worth its metal," Eames suggested. "There will be time down there for you to find her, but just do it before this place goes to shit."

That didn't seem right. The pragmatic part of Arthur fought against that, telling him that he had it all wrong. Hell, dreams weren't that sturdy really, and they were really testing this create layer already. This was a bad, bad idea. Arthur shouldn't do this.

This was only one layer deep, though. Time would be compounded exponentially in Limbo, and Arthur knew that he would have minutes in this layer before the building was brought down.

He should ask Eames to do it. It was only practical. Eames could get her and everything would be fine.

Arthur nodded, his jaw set, and Eames pulled a PASIV case from under the couch.

**xxxxx**

Arthur woke up on the shore of a beach, the waves crashing over him as he stumbled out of the water, soaking. He pulled his jacket and trudged up the beach, his feet sinking slightly into the steps of the sand. So this was Limbo, he realized as he took in the crumbling city. He tried to make sense of the buildings, the layout, but it was a hodge-podge of designs and architecture. Anyone who has shared this dream has been here. Anyone who has fallen here has created. He felt simultaneously overwhelmed and intrigued by it all as he began to wander through the ruins in the streets, admiring a small house, a modern glass building.

He wandered through haplessly, until he realized that the street he was walking on was cobblestoned. There were small saplings in the sidewalk. There was a small café and a side door that led to their Parisian apartment. They chose this place because of the crepes and freshly baked bread in the morning.

The smell. He never forgot the amazing smell that would waft into their building, like a gentle nudge. Ariadne would joke how she could find her block because of the aroma.

Arthur walked right in, marching up the six flights of steps, slowly, carefully, his ears in tune for anything.

He opened to the door to see her back facing him as she stood in front of the kitchen window.

"Ariadne?"

She turned to him. Her face, worried, then relieved, then angry. "You left." Her simple, true accusation hit him harder than any of her previous subterfuge. Her eyes were stern as she looked at him, but he could tell that she was gripping onto that ledge of feeling to make it bearable. He knew that she was using it so she could talk properly to him.

"Ariadne, we have to go." He looked up, around them. "We have to wake up."

These words didn't faze her as she scowled. "We are awake." She laughed hollowly, looking up to the ceiling. "For the first time, Arthur. I think we're wide awake."

Arthur took a step further towards her. "What are you saying?"

"You left," she said. "You left and expected me to just wait for you?" She brandished a familiar sheet of yellow legal paper before him, before bringing it to her face to read aloud. "Ariadne," she started, reading the lines he knew so well in his heart. "Words cannot express the regret I feel in doing this to you, but I'm sorry. I love you. Please remember that." She looked disbelieving at the paper, before turning towards him. "So you're back? After two months? What sort of hypocrite does this, Arthur? We agreed."

Arthur began to realize how she lost herself to this dream, and he charged forward. "Ariadne, you have to listen to me, we're dreaming. Right now. You have to remember."

"But do you remember?" she asked, ignoring him. She pushed forward in such a way that her small frame commanded a presence that made him back down. "Arthur, do you remember making me promise to stop all of this? Why am I not allowed to go, but when suddenly an old buddy comes along—"

"—it's not like that," he insisted.

"You could've died. I could've lost you. Did you even think, what this would do to me?"

Did he? That was all he ever thought about. That was why he was here, wasn't it? Because he was Arthur and he just thought and over thought, disallowing any commentary or help from anyone. He thought he had things in control.

He sagged. "Yes. It's why I never wanted you to go back to it too." He stopped to consider his words. "I didn't want you to live that way. I didn't want to see it consume you, but I can see now that taking that away just made it worse."

She didn't say anything.

"You're a grown woman, Ariadne. I'm not you're keeper. You're right. We're both on different tracks right now. But I love you. And I just wanted that to be enough." He looked up. "But stopping you means you'll regret it later. Not letting you make your own decisions and not talking them through with you means that you'll blame me for them later, and I never wanted us to be soured by the idea of regret. Maybe me leaving was the best."

Her eyes softened at the thought. She dropped her hand holding the infernal letter. "Maybe," she admitted, and Arthur felt himself start forward, wanting to argue against his own self-serving, self-pitying suggestion.

"But I still love you," he said, quietly, hoping with an almost pitying desperation that she would say it back, peeking at her shyly because he didn't want to receive a negative response.

But instead, she sighed, looking at him hungrily, the same way she used to look at him before the cracks started to show. He heartened at this. He stepped forward as she spoke, "What do we do now?"

Arthur already thought this through. He already knew what to do now. He had a plan. He always had a plan. "Would it be too much to ask to start over?"

She shook her head. "I don't know."

"Ariadne, please." He came towards her, wrapping his arms around her waist, burrowing his face into her hair. "We can. I'm sorry."

And she felt the same and smelled like home to him, he couldn't remember why he left her. "I am too," she admitted, "but I don't know what I'm supposed to do."

He felt her arms limp around his sides, withholding a proper reach for him. "At least say you'd like to start over," he egged her on.

"I do."

"Then what's stopping you?" he asked.

She stepped out of the circle of his arms. She rubbed her forearm self-conscious, a little embarrassed. "I miss building. I miss creating, Arthur. I can't not go back."

"Build and create in the real world," he ordered in a daze.

And she leveled a look at him that told him it wasn't that easy. "I want to see Cathedrals. I want to play and knock it down. I want to create mazes. I can't do that in the real world. It doesn't exist in the real world."

He felt his chest heave as he heard her dispel these toxins that drew Mal and Cobb in. He knew the type. He knew the dangers. And he stood powerless to convince her otherwise. He stood powerless because that's all he was. He was nothing compared to that ambition. He was nothing if she didn't choose him. "Is that what you really want?" he asked, and he must be a masochist because he already knew her answer before she said it with downcast eyes and a guilty tilt of her lips.

"Yes."

"Over being with me?" And he twisted the knife because he wanted everything out in the open, because he was being cruel to himself and to her.

Her eyes looked scared and determined and vulnerable, and Arthur was half ashamed that he asked her in the first place. He didn't want to hear it when she told him yes. He at least came back for her in time. He knew that she was going to go look for him. He knew that she would. How he knew, he couldn't really ascertain, but he just realized that had he stayed away longer, Ariadne would've went looking for him or they would've came to find her.

He was right to leave Trevor when he did.

Hang on.

"I came back for you," he insisted, shaking his head, and saying the words slowly. He came back for her. It was like trying to remember an actor from that movie or to summon up a bit of trivia about eggplants at the random moment. He knew it. Deep down, he knew those answers, and yet, he couldn't fully grasp at them. He doubted himself. Never doubt yourself, he would say, and yet this feeling was the equivalent of grabbing at dust motes in the afternoon sun or steam from a kettle. The more he thought about it, the more he aggravated his brain and the harder it became.

He shook his head, and Ariadne was talking, "No. No you didn't."

And her insistence broke him up and her expression hit him in the gut and he continued to try to capture that thought, but he still couldn't. Ariadne was still talking. "Why did it take you so long to come back?"

He had to think. "I didn't know what to do," he said, recalling this truth, attempting to push this haze away as if he was trying to remember something. "There were people with me," he said, speaking his thoughts as they came to him, attempting to record it aloud if anything.

"What did they want?" Ariadne asked.

"They told me to find you," he said, his voice disbelieving what his mind was saying. He couldn't manage his timelines as he thought, hard.

"We can't go back to what we used to be," she said, reminding him, but Arthur hardly heard it as he tried to focus on the phrase she had just spoke. Used to be. What did they used to be?

The apartment. They used to be together in the apartment. Then he left her. An image of him standing at the door, watching her read the letter took over. He left when it was night, right?

No. He came back for her. That morning. He came back for her that morning to see.

But no. That was real. That wasn't what he wanted to remember. His brain told him that that was a memory. That this was new. That they used to be in the apartment together. That they were an apartment just minutes before. That he watched her die.

No.

He ran towards her worktable. He looked for the coil pot.

It wasn't there.

Frantically, he began to shove the papers to the floor, shoving everything out of the way—she was such an adorable mess—until he could find it. Ariadne was behind him, demanding to know what came over him, pulling at his sleeves, tugging at his arms, telling him to stop, stop, stop—

The answering crash brought him to his senses as he saw it smashed into a million pieces on the wooden floor in a familiar way. The familiar scuff was right there. This has happened before.

Déjà vu.

He raised his head as it struck him.

He looked at her over his shoulder, then faced her fully, holding her elbows. "No. No. No. We can come back. We can make this work."

Ariadne looked hurt and confused and almost scared at his mania, and he kissed her forehead with such urgency and pressure that it didn't really quell her nerves. He felt her stiffen against him, but even that didn't worry him because the fact that she was reacting was good enough. He held her face between his hands, smiling, "Ariadne, baby, think, please. We need to wake up. Where were you before you were here?"

"I've been here for months," she argued. Her eyes dodged from right to left as she tried to follow his thoughts. "I've been in Paris waiting for you."

He held their foreheads close as he shook his head. His hand dipped down to the base of her skull, and the pads of his thumb drew across the line of her jaw. He pressed his skin against hers willing as if osmosis could work for them.

And his other fingers drew to her own hand. There was that familiar band around her finger. It was like an anchor to his thoughts. No. She didn't have this anymore, right? She said it was at the bottom of the Seine. What was it doing here? "No. You already did that, remember? Please say you will remember."

"What am I remembering?" she asked. Her voice was devoid of emotion, devoid of the stress he felt as he saw the skies through their apartment windows darken and twist. He held her fingers, gripping the one with the ring.

"Where were we before I came in?" he demanded, holding her a little apart, letting go of her hands. The skies outside started to swirl with dark clouds and lightening. The building started to shake.

"We weren't together," she replied.

"We were and we weren't," he insisted, squeezing her hands now, and she looked away from him and his desperation. "You can't lose yourself now."

Her eyes searched the ground frantically, and she looked up at him, unsure. "A few months, Arthur. You left me a letter, and I gave you three months," she said almost sadly. "I didn't mean to, but I lost faith in us, when you trusted me to stay put."

Arthur turned away from the window and looked at her, because while urgency was in him, he started at this explanation. He came back that morning to see her. He came back for her to change her mind and he saw how she just looked down, numb. In some ways, he knew, but he just didn't want to believe it. "Ariadne—"

She looked up. "We were together for two years, engaged, and you promised to come back for me. But I walked out on you. What does that say about me?" she asked, sadly.

He remembered doing the same. Seeing her through the sliver of their door when she woke up that morning.

Arthur didn't reply. He didn't know this. He didn't understand this page of her history. He was greedy to confirm his thoughts. He stood by the door. He snuck in at daylight. Through a sliver of their bedroom door, he saw her read that damned yellow sheet of paper with his note on it.

He held his breath as she spoke the rest, gently speaking as if the world outside wasn't about to end.

"I wanted an excuse to be pushed in this direction. I wanted you to make me angry enough to leave, because I knew I loved you too much to do it on my own."

"But you left anyway," he spoke up, his heart beating rapidly as she confirmed what he knew.

"It's easier not to listen to you and to trick myself into thinking that you didn't care because you weren't there. I was heartbroken, but I was also greedy. And I'm really sorry." She looked up at him a little sadly.

Ariadne felt herself digging mentally, striking thoughts and memories that seemed long forgotten now, but she took assurance in Arthur's presence. She felt the process become easier as she spoke.

She knew that she had to set this man, the one she buried her emotions for, at ease. She saw what happened to Mal and Cobb. She saw what guilt could do to a dreamer, a person whose life was more dream than anything now. Sub-conscious couldn't stay buried if that was where you lived most of your life. "I didn't go off the radar to avoid you," she admitted, guilt coming over her.

She inhaled deeply. "I told you, after I was caught, _I chose_ to keep going," she explained. "I was fine with that one job in Greece, but I guess I got greedy. After I went back to Paris and waited, I realized that this was my time now. I was heartbroken, yes, so I took it as an opportunity. I asked Eames if he knew any other jobs, and he didn't want to, so I went back to my old employer."

She saw Arthur process her words clearly on his face. "You chose it," he said, realizing her meaning.

"It had nothing to do with you. It was me being selfish and unthinking, and I want a way out now." She felt herself feel slightly freer at this truth. Though, she didn't explain it in the way she wanted.

"And while I did want to hurt you at first, I didn't want you to be this way, Arthur. I thought we were both better off."

She was near tears as she said the next words. "I don't think we can start over."

Arthur felt his heart beat fast as the skies outside took on wind, the wind tunneling into tornadoes around them. He knew this feeling of what Ariadne told him. He knew it because he had thought it too.

Her eyes locked onto his with a clarity that wasn't there before. He felt her squeeze his hand. That familiar metal band on her finger pressed tight against his fingers. She noticed it there too, and she looked him. She looked at him, and like a gasp she said it, "I remember."

**xxxxx**

Ariadne woke up and looked up to see Arthur, Eames, and Trevor hovering over her. Nearby was a defibrillator case.

Eames was the first to react to her open eyes. "Excellent," he said brightly, stooping to pull her into a standing position. She took his hand and got up. "We don't have time, but are you all right, love?" he asked, searching her eyes quickly. Ariadne had to laugh at his perpetually teasing eyes, though he did attempt to be serious.

"Fine," she assured him. She looked over at Trevor and attempted a small, lame wave, which he gave a curt nod to. She then looked at Arthur, who was looking at her as if he could see right through her. She dropped her chin self-consciously over what happened in Limbo.

"We have to move," Eames prompted, shuffling her away, as if she would pass out again. Wait. She didn't pass out.

"Eames, I just died." She looked at Trevor warily, and the man held eye contact before looking away, his shoulders sagging. At least it looked like he felt bad.

"I know, love, but don't you feel it?"

And Ariadne stopped, honing her senses as she felt the entire building quake. She listened for rioting outside or looked at Trevor to see if he was okay. The deeper she stood concentrated, the more she felt it. That quiver of feeling turned into a slight rumble beneath them. The ceiling started to crackle with an unseen pressure. Her heart cranked into business mode, setting a pace that she felt accustomed to, even enjoyed. "How long has it been going on?" she asked, pulling her hands back and standing to face everyone in the room.

Eames shrugged. He shot a look at Arthur. "Since you went under. It's getting worse . . ." he petered off and she knew it was because she was studying the PASIV case on the floor, the defibrillator. She looked down at her custodian uniform and realized that her bra was showing. She blushed, clearing her throat and buttoning it up quickly, barely missing the look of contempt from Arthur to Eames, who had the gentleman audacity to turn away as Ariadne made herself more presentable. Technically, from a medical point of view, she couldn't fault him in using the defibrillator properly.

"Arthur."

And everyone looked at Trevor to see the old extractor glaring. "Mind explaining to me what the hell is going on?"

Arthur softened, weary. "We've been hijacked."

Trevor gave a disdainful look at Ariadne and Eames. "Clearly."

"But we don't have time to talk about this," Arthur said. "We need to get the information and go."

"Micah's gone."

This was a new ingredient to this mottled mess of an extraction. They all turned to Trevor who delivered it. The extractor sort of shrugged at the attention. "After I killed her—" here he nodded towards Ariadne—"he knocked me out for a moment and headed out of the apartment."

"Did he have the contents of the safe?" Arthur asked. Trevor shook his head, and Ariadne looked at his cut lip that corroborated his story. While Micah's escape was bad news as far as the overall goal of the extraction, a part of her rooted for the heir and even cheered that he got Trevor at least.

He did kill her after all.

All four of them made their way to Micah's office to answer Arthur's question, and all they found was a safe hanging open. The inside was empty.

"Micah should have it," Ariadne unnecessarily said, crouching down to look deep inside. Nothing. She even pulled her hand in and touched the metal interior.

The building shook again. Clearly on unstable foundation. She stood, her senses picking up on the subtle nuances of feeling that were happening. The dream didn't feel stable. The building slightly creaked and the walls and ground were showing signs of fractures.

As they stood around, letting this new phase of the plan sink in, Arthur was back to work. "We'll split up to find him."

"We hardly have time," Trevor scoffed.

"We need to try," Arthur urged.

"And we need to stop talking about how we don't have time to talk about it," Ariadne murmured to the side, prompting a smirk from Eames, and a glare from Arthur.

Trevor rolled his eyes. "Where would he be?"

Arthur shrugged. "He was here," he said. "But I don't know where she would take him."

Everyone caught that pronoun Arthur just casually spoke, and Ariadne noticed how Trevor's eyes flickered over to her momentarily, before nodding. "I'll check the building." Trevor looked at Eames. "You're coming with me."

"Why me?" Eames asked. "I'd rather go back with my original teammate, if we're splitting up again."

Arthur looked over at Ariadne, who looked sheepish. "I think I should go with Arthur."

The men all looked at her, and her posture straightened under the pressure. She looked pointedly at Arthur. "We need to talk."

Trevor seemed to want to contest this, but Ariadne was firm. She stared him and the other two down, until he particularly looked uncomfortable and Eames had a bemused expression. Typical of the Englishman, he still fought her, whining about not wanting to go with this new stick-in-the-mud. Ariadne quirked her head at that, but a warning look from Trevor told her not to press it. She looked at Eames. "Go along, _dahling_," she said with an exaggerated accent as Eames laughed, pushing him towards the door. Trevor and Arthur seemed annoyed at her attempt at joking but didn't say anything as they departed.

**xxxxx**

_"You don't have to worry about me, you know," she had said the night before their flight left for the inception job. He paced her room as she had her luggage open mouthed on her bed. She walked towards her wardrobe, grabbing a few shirts._

_"Of course, I know," he said, still pacing. "The fact that you've never shot a gun or have even done a real extraction shouldn't bother me, of course!" he said hollowly._

_Ariadne shook her head at that. "It'll be fine. I know the levels better than the dreamer, so I'll be out of harms way," she said._

_"Coming from you," he said, stopping to sit on her mattress. "That's not really that comforting." At her smile, he continued, reaching for her hands. "You're probably bringing more trouble than you understand."_

_"Am I that distracting, Arthur?" she asked, swooping down to be near him, though not touching._

_"You're dominating," he said, closing the gap between both of them._

"You said she," she prompted. "And before Trevor shot me, he thought that I was the shade."

Arthur was busy mentally preparing for the conversation to be had really. He shook his head. He gestured with his chin towards the safe, and Ariadne followed, her eyes alert as it noticed that same scarf with the feathered patterns.

"I bought that for you years ago," he said as if in a trance.

"Yes," she agreed, uncertainly, her brain whizzing through what happened in Limbo.

"She took him."

"Is that a calling card?"

"Yes."

She sighed. Her mind wrapped itself around this. "Arthur, I need the truth. I need to know, was I the reason that Greece was spoiled?" The question out there she felt petty to even bring it up, but she didn't understand. She felt responsible for this shade, despite the assurance in her own mind that it wasn't her. Despite knowing inherently that she wouldn't do what the shade had done, she felt that there had to be some sort of reason why Arthur's subconscious gave a version of her malicious intentions.

Because she broke his heart, her mind whispered and she resisted that thought, because Ariadne knew heartbreak. She knew what it felt to be left alone so purposefully that all you understood were empty, clenched fists and a sore, sore feeling in the pit of your stomach because you felt as if you were found wanting. You felt as if you could have prevented any of it from happening, but that every single bad thing that had happened to you was a result of every single selfish thing you had ever done. An entire retribution of feeling for every worst thing ever.

It sucked when you woke up, because you forget those first few days or weeks about it. You forget that you hurt or that anything was wrong in the first place, and instead you just go back to normal in reset mode. And then something happens or the day settles upon you and then—wham! Everything hits you with extra force because of course, how could you forget and of course you should hurt.

Ariadne understood heartbreak and loneliness better than anyone. She felt that she was stronger having survived it, but she also knew that she was harder because of it. Dreaming has a way of speeding up that process because your subconscious soaks into your daily routine of run through or dream checks. Arthur was everywhere when she used to build. The line in some buildings, his presence, his shoes by a door, or the ring on her finger. She started to close these doors off mathematically, training herself to let go of the guilt and the ache until she became the Ariadne who stood in this very dream.

The Ariadne who could hurt Arthur and ruin a job. The Ariadne who could very well swap places with a shade.

"It wasn't you," Arthur reassured her. "It was all me. It was my guilt for you." He looked at her. "It was you who squared the deal with Cobol for me." It wasn't a question, but Ariadne knew that she needed to confirm it. Her answer came out in a whisper.

"Yes."

He was quick to reply. "Thank you."

She felt as if she didn't' deserve it. "There is some irony in that that I ruined it and helped you, I'm sure," she said, slightly stunned.

"It wasn't you," Arthur insisted again.

And Ariadne felt her mouth go dry as she tried to prepare herself, wanting ot voice out her concern. "Arthur—"

"It was me, Ariadne," he said.

She didn't have time for him to be just as self-pitying. Ariadne shook her head. "What are you talking about?"

Arthur wasn't really paying attention to her. "We should get going." He strode out of the room quickly.

Ariadne had to hold in the bit of anger. "Arthur, wait." She was after him. "Where are you going?"

"We have to go find her."

"You mean me?" she joked, but she could tell in how his jaw set when she said it that he didn't appreciate the jibe.

"Ariadne, we can't discuss this right now."

"Why?"

He stopped. "Don't you hear it?"

Ariadne stopped too, looking at the sky, because past the crumbling, she heard it. "Music."

"What do you think that gives us?"

"Minutes? Half an hour? It's too light for me to tell."

"Let's go."

Arthur led out of the apartment and into the hallway, looking around carefully as he did so. Ariadne was at his heels.

"But Micah thinks it's his building," she said, thinking aloud. She turned to him. "He'd use the side stairs." Arthur knew she had done her homework, because she strode in the proper direction towards the side staircase that Arthur knew Micah favored. She opened it and headed down, slowly. "Arthur, if this is a paradox, I will kill—" she stopped short as she met him again at the open door. "Okay, does that cut out this option?" she joked.

He grabbed Ariadne's hand. "Come on."

Ariadne looked confused at his change in tone but followed him to the elevator. "Where are we going?"

"I know where he is."

He pressed the button for a few floors down, and Ariadne had an aching suspicion that she had seen a move like that before, but she remained tight lipped as they waited for the elevator to ding down, each number blinking to life as they passed the floor.

"This building is a compilation of the office and Micah's apartment," he explained tersely.

Arthur was different, she realized, sneaking glances at him through her periphery. Something happened to him in Limbo, because Arthur's jaw was set. It signaled those times when Arthur was pure business, when she remembered that he had to do something that required those killer instincts inside him.

Rarely did she see it, but sometimes, like when they were training for inception or when the projections got too worrisome, she'd see it. Like he was a different person. Like he was calculating and solving and permitting order to be around him.

It was amazing to behold, but it was also terrifying to be around.

As the elevator dinged down, they stood there silently, waiting, but Arthur turned to her then. His eyes hardly comforting. "Why this job? Why didn't you abort when you realized that I was part of it? You wanted to run into me. You wanted to see me. Admit it, Ariadne." His voice had a different caliber to it. It had this efficient tone that was just startling and cold.

Ariadne touched her forearm self-consciously, thoughtfully. His tone was brisk, though his words were almost desperate. She looked him up and down, still wearing the tuxedo from the night of the party. She felt inadequate in her janitorial uniform. "I didn't want to see you at all," she admitted. "The job was too important."

"Yeah, like I'd believe that," he said, and something in his stance egged towards annoyance. Arthur and his order. Arthur and his sense of always being right. Arthur and his stupid sexy tuxedo.

"Look," she huffed. "I was promised a clean slate if I went through with this, okay?"

And Arthur's face broke from its shield to look at her. To study her. To see if she had grown wings all of a sudden, because that's exactly the expression that he wore. "What's so bad that you need a clean slate for?" He couldn't swallow back the concern he felt when he heard this, and he looked at her, his eyes roving across her skin, studying for scars or bruises or any hint of ill-use.

Ariadne didn't reply, but Arthur went on.

"You must be really good," Arthur said quietly. "Only the best worry about discovery." She wasn't sure how she should take that.

"That or the stupid ones?" she asked with a bid of acid to her tone. Ariadne was proud of the work she had accomplished. She was proud of what she could do, but she started to understand what Arthur had fought for those years ago. It was big I-Told-You-So, and she was almost unwilling for him to say it to her. But Arthur wasn't petty. She knew he wouldn't, and she was just being mean to think it. "It's an odd compliment to have," she relented.

"Think of it as a badge of honor."

"More like a Scarlett letter," she said with a hollow laugh.

Arthur grinned.

"Have you heard about that job in Oslo?" she asked, hoping to prove something.

Arthur turned to her, giving her the satisfaction of seeing a genuine surprised look on his face. "That was you?"

She nodded, a little proudly, a little smug. "And Florence," she couldn't help but add.

"What about Hong Kong?" he asked.

She nodded.

Arthur took on a new expression as he looked at her with awe. "I heard about that. It was done rather quickly. Elegantly." He shook his head. "All this time," he said, almost laughing. "I have been looking for you all this time, and you were right around me."

"My _employer_ didn't want to let slip I worked for them. They liked keeping me for their purposes only," she explained. "And I didn't want to work for anyone else."

"Why? More prestige means more jobs. More jobs would mean more adventure," he reasoned.

"Yeah," she agreed, her voice taking on a thoughtful timbre. "But, I didn't know what I was doing, and I thought—"

"—that it was safer?" he asked.

She shook her head. "That I had somewhere that I belonged."

Arthur nodded. "It's why I never heard of you being around," he realized. "And I thought you were just avoiding me."

"Did you think I would go through those lengths to avoid you?"

"You weren't really willing to see me at the bar that first night."

Ariadne couldn't argue that, and she faced him fully. "Why didn't you ever come back? Why didn't you ever let me know that you were thinking about leaving?"

Arthur was about to reply, when he heard her gasp. The elevator doors opened, to a different floor. It was an office building—Roebuch Industries' actually—and a group of projections were raising hell. Paper flew everywhere. They were tearing the place apart, apparently looking for a way out, and when the elevator door opened, they turned towards them.

Their gazes were dead but their focus zoned in.

In a second, Arthur had ducked over her and was pressing the button closed, but it wasn't working. He felt the elevator jolt as bullets rained over them.

"We'll have to get off here," Arthur yelled over the din, his head over hers. The elevator was dead.

**xxxxx**

_**AN:** Thank you Lauraax, mm, Molly, and Amelia-Rose! for reviewing the last chapter. There are two chapters left (gasps! I know!). Sorry about the late update. I honestly started working on this one-shot idea I had, and it just started to consume me. Haha. It happens. Thank you again for your reviews. They always brighten up my day. __Hope you like this slightly weird chapter!_


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